Confessions of a Teenage Death Eater: The Catalyst
by whoneedsusernames
Summary: I'm a victim. I never wanted any of this. It isn't my fault. At least, that's the line I'm sticking with. But the truth is that evil can spark from the smallest things, and it grows without you even knowing it. Mine starts here, with a secret and a lie.   HP/OC/BZ  follows THE LIFE AND TIMES OF SIRIUS BLACK.  Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

I've always felt that diaries are for sissies.

Is that harsh? Probably. But really, writing all your feelings down in a book?  
>Please.<br>That is, at the very least, stupid. Books can be read. They're easy to lose, and easy to find. They're _vulnerable_. And why commit your deepest darkest thoughts to something vulnerable?

It's careless, is what it is. I've always thought so.

It's foolishly putting your feelings where anybody can see them, and that's just exposing yourself to harm, and that's nothing but pathetic.

That's what I thought.

But, as per usual, I'm wrong. I've been proven wrong.

Somebody showed me that there's strength in committing your feelings to a book. Strength in baring your soul in the hopes that the right person will read it.

Strength in the conviction that while some might mock you for your thoughts, one person might, just _might_, read it and understand.

My dad showed me that.

His diary showed me that.

Of course, being a boy and therefore protective of his masculinity, he called it a 'memoir'

But still, he was no sissy.

I guess it is foolish to trust other people with your heart. But it's brave, too. Those two qualities are so often found together.

Go talk to anybody in Gryffindor- they're all walking, talking examples of courageous stupidity and blind daring.

My dad was a Gryffindor, so I guess that makes sense. But I'm not. I'm Slytherin through and through, so this is difficult for me.

I can't see any strategic benefit, no way to further myself, by writing in this book. So it feels unnatural, weird.

But it _is_ necessary. I need to get these feelings out, somehow and this is as good a way as any.

And besides, I want you to know, whoever you are. I want _somebody_ to know how this all got so messed up. I want _somebody_ to know why I'm sitting here, with this godforsaken tattoo on my left arm.

Actually, it's for you, Harry.

I'll be honest. It is.

I don't want you to think I betrayed you- did all of this- just because you were an idiot. Though you really _are_ a complete bastard, it would take more than that to compromise my morals. A _lot_ more. I want you to be grateful to me. To respect me.

To see that I'm probably a better person than you.

It's also for you, Draco.

I'm showing you how it's done- rebelling against the people who raised you. I'm showing you how to stand up for what you think is right, no matter whom you have to knock down to do so.

And finally, it's for you, dad.

God, I can't believe I wrote that. So unbelievably corny- so cliched. But I did, and I meant it. It's for you. You wrote so much for me, and I will never be able to tell you how much that meant, and you'll probably never know, but it _did_, really it did.

This is my reply to the one letter you ever wrote to me, the longest letter in the world. You said you were giving me the period of your life that defined you. Now I'm giving you mine. Even though you'll never read it.

I want somebody, _anybody_, to know that I'm not what people think I am. I want just one person to know the truth, to know the long, convoluted sequence of events which led me to this place.

God, I am such a fool.  
>But I'm a well intentioned fool.<p>

I'm a well intentioned, stubborn, caustic, cruel, sarcastic, bitchy fool.

I'm slutty and mean and I never pull my punches. I'm malicious and sulky and spoilt.

But I'm no death eater.

No matter how this all looks, no matter what everybody thinks, I'm no death eater, and I want even _one_ person to see that.

And maybe that one person could, I don't know, spread it around a little. Because Sirius Black would want the world to know that, despite appearances, his daughter fought on the right side of the war.

Because despite it all, she was _good_.

And she wasn't a sissy, either.

...

Let's start this story at the beginning:

My mum died when I was five years old.  
>I don't mean that as an excuse- "oh, my mum died, so naturally I'm <em>allowed<em> to screw up in life"- No. That isn't what I'm telling you.  
>I'm telling you so that you might understand my early life. I wouldn't like to leave questions unanswered for you.<p>

You don't need to know much, but I'll tell you that it was I who found her, that day, leaning against the window sill, a long, thin stick in her hand.

You'd think that, being only little, I wouldn't have realised that she was dead, that I would have thought she was asleep. But I knew. I knew straight away.

What else do I remember? Oh yes. The officials couldn't work out what she'd died of. It wasn't a heart attack or a stroke. It wasn't even the illness she'd been suffering from- the one she'd refused to go the doctors about. The specialists used lots of big words, wondering about it, puzzling over it.

It was as though, they said, she'd died of fright.

But my mother was never scared of anything.

They needed her name, for the death certificate. I showed them her passport.

"Dahlquist." One of them had mused quietly. "That's an old name, isn't it?"

"One of those upper-class families, I think." The other had said. And then to me; "Could you tell us your grandmother's name, so you can stay with her?" I'd shrugged. "Your grandfather? Uncles? Aunties? Cousins?"

I'd just looked away, close to a tantrum. I hadn't known- not any of that. It had always just been us.

So they published my name and tried to find my relatives.

After that, it was a blur of nameless faces.

That was when the man with the silver hair came. He was my uncle, or close enough to it for it not to matter. Nobody asked any questions or even checked to see what I thought.

I was furious, until he showed me his wand and told me that magic was real. When I saw that long, thin piece of wood in his hand, so similar to that of my mother's, I thought I understood.

"Can magic kill a person?" I asked.

He frowned sharply and said, "most times."

I didn't know what he'd meant by that. I'd never heard of Voldemort. I'd never heard of 'The Boy Who Lived'.

He was gone as soon as he'd come, though. My dear uncle Lucius left me in France, under the care of an old, dull woman I'd never met. But when I turned 11, I was sent away again. This time to a _proper_ school, where they taught me about magic.

But Beauxbatons was hell for commoners, and even _more_ hellish for bastards. I was the last Dahlquist- a legacy, one of the purest French wizarding families, directly descended from Morgan La Fey, but nobody knew who my father was. So I was an abomination, a disgrace. And more than that, a waste.

I wanted out, but nobody seemed to care what I wanted until I was 13. Then, the man with the silver hair was back, for the first time in eight years, and in a rush, I was shuffled across to England, to _another_ school.

I didn't hate this one quite as much. Not everybody cringed when I said my last name was 'Dahlquist'. Some people didn't react at all.

And even if they had, I had my cousin by my side, and he'd never have let anything happen to me. Because Draco loves me. Despite everything that's been happening, I know that.

So I was fine. I persevered. I made friends.

And one year passed, and then I started my fourth year at Hogwarts.

And I suppose that _that_ is where this really begins.

So let's start there, shall we?

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A/N: Okay, so just some basic information. This story is, in a way, the sequel/ companion piece to my other long, long fan fic- "The Life and Times of Sirius Black". But it can stand alone fairly well.

For those who haven't read it, the story was Sirius' record of his highschool years, written to the daughter he's never met (Estelle) over the period of Harry's 5th year. This story also begins in Harry's 5th year, although being younger, Estelle is in fourth year.

The implications that you need to know about from "The Life and Times" are that:  
>(1): Estelle had no idea who her father was- her mother left before his arrest and lived as a muggle in France<br>(2): Narcissa Malfoy has officially had custody of Estelle, since her mother's death.  
>(3): Harry has read Sirius' memoir- without Sirius' permission- and so knows Estelle is Sirius' daughter.<br>(4): The memoir was delivered by Harry to Estelle after his death.

So hopefully that's not too confusing. Stick with it. After this chapter, all your favourite characters will come onto the scene.

And please, give it a go!


	2. Chapter 2

"_Fin_." I said, lowering my mascara wand and pouting at my reflection.

Fourteen years old. Almost fifteen- it was about time that I finally began to express myself.

"Estelle- we're leaving now. Father wants you downstairs in… Merlin." I turned and smiled at my cousin. As per usual, Draco was impeccably groomed, his hair slicked back, his robes perfectly straight. He hated disorder, which was probably why he looked so shocked now. "Estelle- what the _hell_ are you wearing?"

I looked down at myself. Little red velvet dress, tights and combat boots. Dark denim jacket. I looked back up at Draco. "Um- clothes?"

He gaped for a minute. I took this as a compliment. If Draco was shocked and scandalised by my outfit, it meant that Lucius would be _horrified_.

As if he'd heard my thoughts, Draco breathed. "Father will murder you if you try to leave the house in that."

I turned back to the mirror with a shrug, smudging my eyeliner a little with the tip of my thumb. "Let him try."

This was why I hated our new living arrangements. Last year, I'd lived in a small apartment beside Malfoy manor, under the supervision of the world's most diligent chaperone.

But chaperone or no, I was free.

But no sooner had the school year ended, with Potter causing yet another mess with the TriWizard Tournament, than Lucius had hustled me back into the manor. He claimed we needed to be close together in such trying times.

Now I was under constant supervision. Everything I did was evaluated and judged. And so, it was time for me to rebel.

Undeterred, Draco walked over to my side, leaning back on the counter. "What happened to your old clothes?" He asked me, sounding impatient. The sight of my appearance unnerved him so much that he was surreptitiously smoothing his hair down even more.

"You _hated_ my old clothes."

Draco's eyes followed me as I bent to pick up my bag. "I've changed my mind." He said warily, and I smiled. "Last year, you were just… quirky. And we could explain away the clothes based on your… culture, and the fact that you were still adjusting to life in England."

I shrugged. "Well. I burned my old clothes." The look of shock on his face made me grin. "What? I needed a change_._" I explained patiently. "Last year I knew Beauxbatons would be at Hogwarts, and I couldn't face those students again- that Delacour girl, especially." Even now, two years on, I could still remember the sound of her laughter. _'A Dahlquist? This one? No wonder no one knew about her- they were probably hiding her away in shame!'_ "I needed to be invisible. So I was."

Draco cleared his throat. "And now?"

I grinned. "Now they're gone." My hair looked a little too neat, still falling in those perfect ringlets. With a devious grin, I flipped it forwards, teasing it out with my hands. "And I can be _me_ again. Thank Merlin."

"And _who_ are you?" Draco asked, less than amused.

Shooting him a charming smile, I stuffed the last of my spare robes into my duffel bag. "Estelle." I told him simply, and he rolled his eyes.

"You're only ever charming like this when you're about to do something disgraceful." He told me tiredly. "_Don't_. Not today. Father is in a terrible mood." His mouth twisted into a sneer. "We've just found out that _Potter_ got off."

Draco had been thrilled when Uncle Lucius had told him about Harry Potter's fall from grace.

I couldn't have cared less. "Why does that matter?"

"Estelle- the boy is a menace. He performed magic- _outside_ of school." Draco looked furious.

I _still_ couldn't have cared less. Combing my fingers through my side fringe, I frowned at my reflection. Against the black eyeliner, my eyes looked almost silver. "_Et Alors_? You do that all the time" Draco didn't answer. "Well? Drake?"

He was standing opposite me, fists clenched and jaw set tight. Sighing, I awaited his traditional response. "You just _don't understand_, Estelle."

"Of course not." I drawled, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. "Let's go. We'll be late."

We apparated to Kings Cross. Malfoys would never deign to use a car (Inferior Muggle Trash) or –Merlin forbid- _walk_.

As I'd expected, taking so long to get ready had given Uncle Lucius no time to complain about my appearance. He'd sneered, but held out his arm for me, and taken me on side-along apparation without a word.

When we'd arrived, I'd immediately hurtled through Platform 9 ¾, Draco close behind me.

Around us, the platform was alive with people milling about, trolleys piled high with trunks and cages. As I watched, they hugged, kissed and laughed. Kids waved happily at each other, parents smiled fondly. I sensed rather than saw Draco by my side, watching the people with me.

"You planned that almost too well." He said softly, reaching up to smooth down his hair again. It was so perfect that it looked like he was wearing some sort of silver helmet. With a sigh, I twisted a piece of my own hair in my hands.

"Do you think we look related?" I asked, comparing the dark gold of my hair to his own platinum blond.

It was a sarcastic question, but Draco considered. "Of course we do. We're pureblood." I made to reply, but I was cut off.

"Drakey!" a voice called. "You took _such_ a long time to get here…. Oh _Merlin_. Estelle? Is that you under all that eyeliner?"

I turned around, plastering a smile on my face. "Hi, Pansy. You seem well."

She looked me up and down, reaching for Draco's arm and sneering. "You don't." she told me, puggy nose pushed into the air. "_You_ look awful. What- what are you wearing?"

I sighed. "Clothes. They're clothes."

"_Muggle_ clothes." Pansy pointed out. "Why aren't you wearing robes?"

"Didn't feel like it." I told her. "Besides, _nobody_ looks good in robes- they make everybody look sort of fat."

Pansy flushed and protectively shielded her stomach with her hands. "What about your hair? Did you brush it?" She flipped her own perfect bob to emphasize her point. I smiled sweetly.

"No. I didn't want to disturb the family of birds that have taken up residence in it."

I must have looked annoyed, because she gave a low sigh. "Oh, I'm _sorry_, honey." Pansy said, pouting at me. "You know I never _mean_ to be cruel!"

I smiled sweetly. "So, your entire personality is just one continual accident, then?"

Draco frowned at me. "Estelle, don't be so rude. Pansy was just giving you advice about your appearance. That's normal behaviour- _girl_ behaviour."

I shrugged, tossing my hair. "Pansy's a _girl_?" I asked in mock disbelief, and Pansy gasped angrily. "Oh, _sorry_, _cherie_. I didn't mean to be offensive!"

Sniffing indignantly, she turned back to Draco. "I'm going to go and find Millie." She said primly. "I'll save you a spot on the train, shall I?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm a _prefect_ now, Pansy." He said, proudly pushing forward his new badge. "I'll have to sit with the prefects."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Oh. Like Granger and Potter, probably." She sniffed again. "Well, hopefully ugliness isn't contagious. I'll see you afterwards."

She kissed him on the cheek and glided off, waving politely at Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa as she passed them.

Uncle Lucius seemed unimpressed. "What a ridiculous creature that girl is." He said, bored. "Just like her fool of a mother. What was she saying to you, Estelle?"

I shrugged. "That my clothes are a disgrace."

"They are." He agreed, tone disinterested. "In future, you will dress as befits your status and your family." There was clearly no room for discussion, but then I hardly planned to discuss it.

Narcissa said nothing. But then, she rarely said anything to me at all.

"That," Draco said, forcing my attention away from my Aunt and Uncle, "is the weirdest goodbye party I have ever seen."

Stifling a yawn, I looked in the direction he was pointing. I wondered which of the Hogwarts students had offended Draco this time. Since my very first day at Hogwarts my cousin had been pulling me aside to make snarky comments about his fellow students.

Back when I was thirteen, and new to not only the school but to the country, that had been confusing, and interesting. But now, as I was entering my fourth year? Now it was tedious.

And I _knew_ that, whatever it was that Draco was complaining about, it would involve Harry Potter. It always did.

Admittedly it _was_ sort of weird. Potter was standing with the Weasleys- all 500 million of them. But beside them were three complete strangers.

Or so I assumed- after all, they weren't redheads.

My eye snagged instantly on an old woman in a deranged hat. "Who the hell is that?" I smiled, "and what crawled onto her head and died?"

Draco smiled back at me and shrugged. "Haven't seen her before. But she looks like the sort of weirdos who hero-worship Potter."

They had a specific look? Fascinating. I had obviously not been paying enough attention. Absently, I wondered what sort of look _I _had, as part of the Slytherin crowd.

"Constipated." I mused aloud. "Or maybe like I can smell something awful."

"What?" Draco snapped, smoothing at his hair again. "Elle, you know I hate when you speak French." I shrugged unapologetically. I hadn't realised I was speaking aloud, let alone that I hadn't been speaking English. "What did you say?"

I sighed sharply, tugging a fag out of the pocket of my dress. Draco hissed in discontent, but I ignored him, he was always more irritable on the first day of school. He seemed to feel he was under some kind of pressure. I'd been wondering when his bad mood would kick in this morning. He'd been almost agreeable so far. "Nothing." I mumbled around the cigarette in my mouth.

Annoyed, Draco pulled it away from me before I could light it, throwing it on the floor. "Merde!" I snapped, and glared up at Draco. "Just because _you're_ angry…." I muttered, and he ignored me.

Bored and deprived of my nicotine fix, I gazed absently back at the Weasleys. They all seemed so happy and comfortable with each other. So unlike our cold little group. Draco was telling Aunt Narcissa that he'd write to her every second week, while Uncle Lucius tapped his cane impatiently against the ground.

It was times like these that I truly missed my mother.

Had _she_ been here, she would have been laughing and fussing. We'd have our arms linked, and she'd be making fun of everybody around us, _including_ us.

It would be like a party. Nothing like the reserved way in which the Malfoys operated.

Wistful, I looked back to the Weasleys once more, frowning. Even the non-Weasleys were happy. Potter was like an honorary Weasley, the old lady with the ridiculous hat was laughing, and…

My frown deepened when I saw that beside the weird cat lady was….

"Um, Lucius," I said, touching my uncle's sleeve cautiously, "why is Professor Moody dressed like a porter?"

Lucius snapped instantly to attention, "he what?" he asked, sounding disinterested. And then his gaze sharpened as he looked at our old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who'd obviously donned an oversize porter's uniform, complete with dark blue cap, tilted to 'cover' his trademark eye. "Oh, ridiculous." Lucius snarled, "the idiots- Narcissa, look how rag tag they've gotten. They're status as _'_resistance_' _is an insult to _him_."

Aunt Narcissa blinked rapidly as she gazed on the 'Potter Party', her eyes snagging on the third stranger. I followed the path of her stare.

The man looked about her age- perhaps she known him from school? As it was, she was obviously affected by his presence. My first impression was that he was a complete mess. It wasn't that he was ugly- not at all. Just that he was dishevelled in a way which seemed less 'devil-may-care' and more 'so-hungover-I-can't-remember-if-I-put-on-pants'. His hair was a mess and his clothes were worn thin at the elbows and knees. Still, there was a kind of feral grace about him. You could tell that he was a little bit dangerous when he wanted to be.

Actually, he looked pretty familiar to me. I had a feeling I'd seen his face somewhere before. Perhaps when I was young.

"Who's that one?" I asked, hating that my accent had stuck around this long- just a little lilt in my words to point to my French heritage. "The tall, messy one?"

"Professor Lupin." Draco supplied, with a shrug, "I forgot- you were still at Beauxbatons when he taught here. He's probably Potter's second biggest fan, after Dumbledore." Draco sounded really bitter. I knew he wished Dumbledore liked him- I'd seen the chocolate frog card with his face on it that Draco had shown me before my first day at Hogwarts- he admired the man.

You couldn't tell that now, from the look on his face. As I watched, he sniffed and said. "He's a werewolf, you know. Lupin."

Well that explained the feral grace, I thought, looking at him again. I _knew_ I recognised him from somewhere, though I wasn't sure where.  
>And well, if I'd thought he wasn't bad looking before, knowing that he was a werewolf…. Well. There was something exciting in that. And I've always had a thing for bad boys.<p>

"Have I met him?" I asked Lucius, who'd known me the longest. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I very much hope not, Estelle," he said contemptuously. "The man is _common_- a blood traitor and a werewolf. Hardly acceptable company for a Dahlquist."

Whatever that meant.

I looked back at the man. He was _fascinating_- a werewolf? I was filled with curiosity. And those eyes….. yes. He was an attractive prospect- it was a pity he was so much older than me.

Absently, my eyes drifted down, following his hand as he scratched the ears of the biggest dogs I'd ever seen.

"Elle?" Draco touched my shoulder, "Elle, are you okay?"

"Um, yeah," I said slowly. He frowned at me.

"What are you looking at…?" his eyes snagged on what had me so shocked, "look at the size of that _mutt_." He gaped, and Lucius zeroed in on the conversation, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the dog.

It was an impressive thing, pitch black and covered in shaggy hair. It was huge, too- the size of a small bear, with paws as big as my hands. And its eyes, I could see even from so far away, were grey as my own.

"Well." Lucius said simply. "Look at that, Narcissa- a family reunion. Quite a risk he's taking."

Narcissa paled, shooting her husband a furious glance, her eyes practically spitting fire. "Lucius," she said quietly, "I am warning you now…."

"No need," Lucius said, waving a hand, "I was merely jesting. Estelle, what do you think of that dog? Does it remind you of anything? Perhaps from your past?"

Even after all this time, I was defensive whenever people brought up my childhood. Had anybody else looked at me like that, and asked me a question like that, I would have torn them to shreds.  
>But I never truly acted out with Lucius. He was the closest thing I had to a father, and I craved his approval, most days.<p>

So I took a deep breath, found another fag, and considered my answer.

What could I say? That the dog scared me? That whenever I'd felt alone, my Mother had told me to look for a dog just like that, that it meant my father was nearby? That I felt suddenly safe now that I'd seen it? That it made me feel lost that it was standing next to this man who looked so familiar.

"It reminds me of my mother," I said simply, "she had this thing about black dogs." I didn't like the smile he gave me. There was something a little predatory in it, a little too knowing. But I shot him a grin, and said brightly, "we have to run to catch this train." Draco nodded in agreement. The Potter Party had already boarded, with lots of hand shaking and hugging- we were late.

"Goodbye, Uncle Lucius," I said happily, giving him a kiss on the cheek, "Aunt Narcissa," she smiled tightly at me, but didn't meet my eyes, and I knew better than to kiss her. Lucius and Draco may have accepted me into their family, but Narcissa had not. I doubted she ever would.

"Have a good year." He called now, and Draco and I ran for the train, dodging the waving parents, fast but not fast enough, apparently, I thought as I skidded straight into the werewolf man.

He caught me straight away, as my books went flying.

"Careful-" he began, but broke off when he saw my face. Even though he was old enough to be my dad, I really did think he was quite good looking, and I was always a flirt. So I shot him a charming smile and batted my eyelashes a little, "oops. I'm a little clumsy," I said apologetically, "good catch, though."

The corner of his mouth quirked up almost involuntarily, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. Those were, well, staring. They darted all over my face, taking everything in. His hands got a little bit tighter on my shoulders, and then, suddenly, he let go.

"Be careful!" he called, and I could see him as a teacher, "don't run so fast." I smiled winningly over my shoulder, and saluted him.

"Estelle, this train is _moving_!" Draco shouted at me, grabbing on to the door of it and holding out a hand for me. I grabbed it, still looking around for the man- and the dog.

It was gone. But he was still there- alone. I wondered where the rest of the Potter Party had gone. And where the dog was. My safe feeling evaporated, and my smile fell a little.

Draco grabbed my shoulder, "let's go find you a compartment." He said simply, smoothing his hair once again. "I have to sit with the prefects."

"I can find my own," I told him with a smile.

But instead, I just wandered around the train for a bit, craving a smoke and wishing I could ignore the weird, empty feeling I'd gotten after seeing those people at the platform. There was no reason for it; just a man and a dog. That's all, and why should that bother me?

I wasn't sure, but it did, and my unease was showing on my face. I was always so easy to read when I was upset. Jess Osyth and Carmeline Burke were sitting in our usual compartment, but I couldn't bring myself to go in there and talk to them. I watched them at the door for a while, but I just couldn't stand the idea of listening to their questions the whole way to Hogwarts. With a snarl, I turned away from their compartment and stalked away.

I needed space. I needed privacy.

After a while, I found an empty looking compartment. The only person I could see inside was Luna Lovegood. I liked Luna. We'd had a couple of classes together, and I thought that all in all, she was the most mental person on the planet.  
>And with crazy comes obliviousness. She would be far too busy looking for doodleyhumps or something to notice I was upset.<p>

"Hey, Luna," I called, sliding open the door, "can I get changed in here- most everywhere else is full, and I'll be damned if I have to change my robes in front of Crabbe and Goyle….."

I was already unbuttoning my dress as I spoke, so it's lucky my hair is so long, or Potter, Weasley Girl and Longbottom would have had a full view of my bra.

"Hi, Estelle," Luna murmured dreamily, blinking slowly, "sure you can get changed in this compartment- but Harry and Neville are here, too."

They sure were, and gaping like fish. I felt my stomach sink. The whole reason I was so edgy was Potter's little goodbye committee, and in my effort to avoid thinking about them, I'd walked straight into Potter. And he was looking at me like he'd never seen a girl before. I tried not to smirk- the 'Boy who lived' was apparently not immune to puberty.

"Oh," I said calmly, buttoning up my shirt and ignoring the red faces of the Griffindors, "my mistake." I shot Luna a friendly smile, which she returned, blissfully oblivious to the awkwardness of the moment.

It was about then that I noticed the plant on Longbottom's lap, "what is _that_?" I asked. He didn't answer, blushing furiously, and staring intently at the floor. It seemed that he'd just realised how he'd been staring, and at _who_- A Slytherin, Malfoy's cousin.

The silence became awkward. "Sounds fascinating," I said sarcastically, but with a small smile. I wasn't a complete bitch. Or not always, anyway. Smiling again at Luna, I said, "see you later." She waved dreamily, and I stepped out of the room.

"Who was that?" I heard one of the boys ask as I left.

"That? That's Estelle." Luna supplied vaguely.

"She's Malfoy's cousin- a Dahlquist, French." The other boy added- Longbottom, I guessed, "the year below us? She's really in thick with all the Slytherins. Don't you know her?"

"Who _cares_?" the Weasley girl interrupted, "I mean, that was pretty slutty, but why should we talk about it? I hope Ron and Hermione come back from the Prefects carriage soon…"

I lost interest. I left, off to find any little nook or cranny where I could park my bags and have a much-needed fag.

And that was the first time I really noticed Harry Potter. He didn't make much of an impression. But I think I might've. Because my dad only knew about me because Harry mentioned me- mentioned my name. Probably after that incident, actually. I can imagine it- my dad would have said something derogatory about Slytherins or Malfoys, and Potter would have laughed. He would have said that actually, he'd seen Malfoy's cousin today, and she seemed a bit more friendly than usual _'if you know what I mean'_ (cue the wink or the waggle of the eyebrows) And my dad would have frowned, which I can imagine, and asked 'what cousin?' And Potter would have said, 'the French one. Estelle- Estelle Dahlquist.'

And then my dad would have known. For the first time in fourteen years, he would have known I was alive. All because of my little accidental striptease.

So it's fate, really, that I walked into that room. It's fate that I happen to be in the habit of indiscriminately ripping off my clothes. Because if I hadn't, I would never have known about my father. Or rather, he would never have known about me.

And then none of this would have happened at all.

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A/N: okay, so hopefully this is alright, so far. Remember to review with suggestions and feedback, especially those who've read "The Life and Times"- i know a few of you had high hopes for Estelle, so I'm feeling the pressure.

And remember, if you like this but are feeling like you need some background information, "The Life and Times of Sirius Black" is just a click away, on my page.

Love to hear from you, and I'll update as often as I can.


	3. Chapter 3

We got to the castle with very little other fuss. Not in the mood to wait around for Draco, and still (though I'd never show it) slightly embarrassed about having bared myself to the cream of Gryffindor society, I snuck up to the front of the train to sit with the driver.

Martin, his name is, and he's about a trillion years old, even though he smokes like a chimney. Last year, I'd fought with Draco before we'd gotten on board the train after Christmas holidays. Draco _is_ malicious, and he'd told all his friends not to talk to me again, and so, unconcerned and with a very limited supply of English, I'd wandered around until I found Martin.

He was so wonderful. I was homesick and tired, but the very sight of him had raised my spirits. When I'd lived with my mother, our closest neighbour had been a man I'd called 'Monsieur Tonton'- an ancient old thing, with a mane of white hair and dark eyes buried in a sea of wrinkles. He'd looked after me when I was little, and whenever I was sad, he'd tell me fairytales. He knew that Maman was special- he'd seen her lose her cool and accidentally perform magic. But he never cared. He acted all gruff, but underneath it all, he was the sweetest man alive.

I missed him almost as much as I missed my mother- perhaps even more.

And Martin looked _just_ like him.

He'd growled at me to go away, but I'd smiled sweetly and replied "_je ne parle pas anglais'_, and really, what could he say to that?

So I'd sat up there with him, swinging my legs off of the edge of the train, whistling, until he looked so angry I thought he might throw me off of the damn thing. And so, to apologise, I offered him a cigarette.

Any teacher would have been furious. I was short and skinny, and looked about 10years old, for all that I was almost 14. Clearly, I was too young to be smoking.

But Martin just raised his bushy white eyebrows until they disappeared into his driver's cap, and then pointed to his pipe, as if to say 'I've got my own'.

And since then, I've been sitting with Martin for at least 10minutes on every single trip. We never talk. He's a solitary old man, and he seems to have assumed that I never learned to speak English anyway. So I'll turn up, say _'Bonjour, Monsieur Martin." _And he'll glare at me, as though I've told him his mother was a whore, and then we'll settle into silence.

On this particular day, I clomped over to him, opened my mouth, and then paused as I saw that he'd placed a cushion on the floor for me to sit on. I stood there for a moment, until he turned around and raised one eyebrow.

Startled into action, I uttered my traditional greeting, _"Bonjour, Monsieur Martin._" I said obligingly, and then, before I could stop myself, "you bought me a cushion."

His eyes widened a little and he gave a gruff nod. "You speak English?" he asked.

I gave a little shrug and sat down on the cushion. "Maybe." I said.

"Hmph." He muttered, looking back ahead and pulling his cap down over his eyes.

….

Pansy found me as I was getting off the train.

"Draco is looking for you." She told me primly. Then her smile turned into a smirk. "So is Blaise."

I rolled my eyes. "He is _not_." I said, dismissively. "Parkinson, I saw you pull this same trick on poor Desdemona. Only _she_ fell for it, approached him in the great hall, and was spectacularly rejected."

Pansy looked less than impressed that I wasn't going to play along. "Fine." She huffed. "Blaise couldn't care less where you were- he doesn't go for girls who look like raccoons." Clearly, she was still hung up on my eyeliner. "But Draco _is_ looking for you- he wants to know which compartment you sat in, seeing as he asked Vincent, Gregory _and_ your little friend Jess, and nobody had seen you."

I shrugged, "I was walking around." I said. "Why does it matter?"

"Well we wouldn't want you sitting with the wrong crowd, now, would we?" she asked scathingly.

Wouldn't we? I considered. Pansy would no doubt be _very_ disappointed to hear that I'd embarrassed myself. She was, after all, so very concerned for my welfare.

"I tried to sit with a Ravenclaw." I said casually, and Pansy's eyes bulged. I nodded serenely. "You might know her- Luna Lovegood? She walks around with corks around her neck. Sometimes, she sings to herself. And she's always carrying radishes. That one."

"You _what_?" she gasped, perfectly glossed mouth falling open.

I just _adore_ scandalising people. "Ah. So you _do_ know her. Anyway, the compartment was pretty much full, so I went and sat with the driver, instead."

"Driver?" I heard Draco approach, pulling at his robes. "I didn't even know there _was_ a driver; he's probably a squib." His nose wrinkled a little.

"Probably." I agreed.

"Who's a squib?" somebody else asked, and I felt myself smile. Blaise Zabini.

You know Blaise Zabini- _everybody_ knows Blaise Zabini, because in every school, every work place, everywhere that people regularly gather, there is a Blaise Zabini.

The tall, cool one. The good looking one who makes everybody else feel like shit. The snob, the dick. The one you despise but secretly wish would notice you.

That's Blaise. That's Blaise Zabini.

Only he's worse. He _knows_ what he is to the female population of Hogwarts, and he alternates between scorning his followers and maliciously exploiting them.

Usually, it's enough for him to know that he could have a girl, if he wanted. The problem is when a girl makes it clear (and not in that obvious 'playing hard to get' way) that she doesn't want him. Then the game is on.

Because Blaise Zabini feels that he has a claim to every pureblood or Slytherin girl in the school. They are _his_, no matter what they say.

And perhaps we are, in some small way.

But not me. Because Blaise Zabini is handsome and smart. He's charming, when he wants to be, even if he rarely bothers, and even his disdain is beautiful.

But he's cold and detached and often quite cruel.

He's everything I want to be. Because if you don't care, you don't get hurt. And I'm so sick of being hurt.

But I can't be like him- I still care too much. So for me, he's little more than a reminder of my failure.

"The driver," I told him calmly, "is _possibly_ a squib. Which doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Draco laughed, but his eyes were incredulous. "Elle, you say the darndest things. Of course it matters."

I frowned. "Why?" I challenged. "You don't need magic to drive a train, do you?"

Draco frowned, "anybody who is looking after or responsible for a large group of minors _should_ have magic." He said. "I mean, what if there were a crisis?"

"Such as?"

It was Pansy who answered. "If the train broke down." She said. "How would he fix it? Or if it crashed. Or fell off of the tracks… or were attacked." She turned to Draco for approval, and he nodded sagely, draping an arm around her shoulders.

I rolled my eyes. "Muggles have trains." I told her. "They can fix those without magic, Martin probably knows how, too. And if the _magic_ train fell off of the _magic_ tracks, then there'd be nothing for Martin to do, because clearly those spells aren't working anyway. And besides, couldn't any of those problems be addressed by the hundreds of witches and wizards riding the train? Or one of the many teachers who come along to supervise?" there was a pause, and I grinned. "Martin has gotten this train to and from Hogwarts _without_ incident for practically forever. Did you get that? Without problems _and_ without magic_._"

Pansy opened her mouth to reply.

Despite being in his usual, shitty mood, Draco brushed away my comments. "Whatever, Elle. We all know how you love to be contrary."

It was true- there was little point in denying it. I loved nothing more than tearing other people's opinions down. "I _do_ love to be contrary," I admitted.

"Maybe," Pansy suggested, no doubt with the best of intentions, "you ought to go and find your little friends."

I shot her a dazzling smile and whipped out a cigarette. "I was just about to go and do that." I told her confidently.

"And by _friends_, I don't mean that crazy Ravenclaw girl." Pansy clarified snootily. "You're embarrassing Draco."

Mock shamefaced, I turned to Draco, "sorry, Drakey." I told him, "I'll try not to do that." They all looked so satisfied with my apology that I couldn't resist adding on. "And I promise I won't flash any more Gryffindors."

Draco started violently, and Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Estelle- _what_?" Draco sputtered, and I grinned happily.

"Oh, look. It's Jess." I waved at him. "I'll go meet her- _aurevoir_!" And I darted off before he could complain.

Jess Osyth was waiting for me by the carriages. She's one of the few people Draco actually approves as a friend for me whom I can actually stand. Pureblooded for six generations back, her family rivals the Malfoys in wealth and prestige.

But she's no snob.

As I approached, she waved lazily, flicking her dark bangs out of her eyes. "Hello, Elle." She said tiredly. "Didn't see you on the train."

I shrugged. "I was busy disgracing the family name."

She nodded seriously. "Okay. Well, how were your holidays?" and then her grin turned mischievous. "And why is Zabini looking at you?"

I glanced over my shoulder to see Zabini watching us over Pansy's head. "No idea." I said honestly. "Maybe he's into you again. I wouldn't know."

Jess gave a low sigh. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. I've known him since I was eight- you've only known him for a year."

She was wrong, actually.

I met Blaise years ago.

I don't think he remembers, but he was the first English person I'd ever properly met. It was at the Ministry of Magic in France. I was five years old, and sitting on a bench that was far too high for me, my legs swinging aimlessly inches off the floor.

My mother had been dead for almost a month. I was in the midst of custody arrangements. And I wasn't speaking to anybody.

I was, however, expressing myself as well as I could with my clothing.

For instance, on this day I'd chosen to wear black and white striped tights, a red fairy costume and a witch's hat.

My guardian at the time- a dull witch called Heather- had tried to make me wear a nice little green ensemble. I'd responded by pulling on bright pink wellingtons.

Draco was right, after all. I was _always _contrary.

Anyway, I'd been waiting there, not even caring about the outcome of their mediation- whether or not Narcissa Malfoy would be named my guardian- when a man had walked by and deposited a young, sulky looking boy on the bench beside me.

"You stay there." He said gruffly. "Your mother will be out soon- and, godwilling, this farcical marriage will be over."

The boy was a beautiful little thing, with skin like milky coffee and huge dark eyes. "I hate you." He said calmly, in a tone so at odds with his angelic appearance.

"I wish you and your mother were dead." The man returned, equally calmly, and strode off.

There was a moment of beautiful silence, and then:

"You look ridiculous." The boy had said, looking down at me. "What are you meant to be?"

Perhaps it was because I was lonely. Perhaps because he was my age. Or, most likely, maybe it was because he was the first person who hadn't pretended to be nice, or acted like nothing was wrong. Whatever the reason, I spoke.

In halting English, I'd replied. "I'm a fairy."

"You're wearing a witch hat." The boy pointed out, and I shrugged.

"I'm a _witch_ fairy, then."

He'd kept his gaze fixed on me steadily, as though measuring my answer. For some reason I was nervous as to what he thought, but I steeled myself, lifted my chin and waited. "There's no such thing." He said finally, and looked back at the wall opposite us.

I was furious. "Who cares what _you_ think?" I demanded, but he didn't bother to answer. Rather, he smiled knowingly- a strange look on the face of a child. Unimpressed, I frowned. "Idiot."

He looked back at me. "I'm Blaise Zabini. Of the Firenze Zabinis."

I sniffed. "I don't care." And then. "What's Fir-en-ze?"

I have never seen such disdain on such a young face. "_Florence._ In Italy."

"Italians." I muttered darkly. "Nobody likes Italians."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Everybody likes Italians." He said, sounding bored. "I'm here because my mother is getting divorced from her husband. Again."

"I don't care." And then. "Was that man your father?"

"No. I _told_ you. My mother is getting a divorce _again_. That's not my father."

"Where's your father?" Blaise shrugged. "Is he dead?"

He didn't answer my question. Instead, he turned to me with those huge, cold eyes and said, "you're a filthy little mudblood. And you're stupid as well as ugly. Is your father dead?"

Unoffended by his words, I'd shrugged. "Don't know. Don't know him."

Blaise had smiled cruelly. "Oh, so you're a filthy, stupid, ugly, mudblood bastard!"

"I'm going to _kill_ you!" I hissed menacingly wiggling my fingers in his face.

"You are not." He said dismissively. "I know who my father is, and he'd eat you for breakfast if you hurt me!"

I smiled, triumphant. "Where is he?" I asked. "If he cares about you, where is he?"

Blaise flushed bright red, and suddenly, I thought he looked more human, less beautiful but more alive. "Well, where's _yours_?"

I grinned evilly. "He's a dog. He's a giant black dog, and he'll _really_ eat you for breakfast, because that's what he eats. Idiots."

"That's stupid. Your father isn't a dog."

"He _is_." I insisted. "My mother said so."

He leaned in very close, and perhaps as revenge, whispered. "Your mother is _dumb._"

So I launched myself at him, clawing at his face and ripping at his clothes. "My mother is _dead_." I corrected him, and punched him in the nose.

"You broke it!" he cried. "You broke my nose." And then, abruptly, he was calm. "why are _you_ here?" he asked, with as much dignity as a six year old could when his nose was swelling to twice its normal size.

I shrugged, no longer angry. "I don't have any family." I said calmly. "So they're finding me another one."

There was a long, silent moment, full of careful thinking and awkwardness. Surprisingly, it was Blaise who broke it.

"This is good, you know." He said quietly. "You have no family left. That means you can start again. And _you_ can choose _them_ this time."

"Don't you listen?" I snapped. "I don't get to _choose_. They're choosing for me."

Blaise looked at me, eyes dark and condescending. "You're stupid. Even for a girl. You might have to live with these people, but you can choose anybody to be your new family."

"Oh." I said, ignoring the fact that he'd insulted me. "Well, I won't ever choose _you_."

He'd looked affronted. "I wouldn't want you to!" Then he'd sniffed. "I actually _have_ a family. And you're not invited."

"Good!" I'd shouted at him, standing up on the bench, my tulle skirt ripping on a loose nail.

"Good!" He shouted back, and we glowered at each other.

"Blaise?" we turned around to see a beautiful woman standing before us. She was tall and slim, with skin the colour of chocolate and huge eyes, so deep and cool and black that you couldn't tell the difference between her pupils and her irises. "We're leaving."

She said nothing to me, but as I watched, Blaise meekly stepped off the bench and took her hand. Watching them was like a knife through my stomach.

Whenever I saw her, my mother would pick me up and swing me around, laughing. Every time she saw me, it was like we'd been apart for a long time, and she'd missed me more than anything.

But she'd never swing me around again. She'd never even hold my hand, like Blaise's beautiful mother was now.

As I watched he looked back at me and frowned. "Don't _cry_." He snapped. "You're not a baby." And then, slightly more kind, he said. "Choose a good family."

And then they were gone.

When Draco introduced me to Blaise years later, I'd known him instantly. But I'd said nothing.

Really, what could I have said?

"He really is very attractive…" Jess was saying now. I realised that she'd been talking to me for quite some time.

I sighed. "Want to go and say hi?" I asked her, the very picture of a self sacrificing friend. Jess nodded eagerly and strode back towards Draco, Blaise, Pansy and now Crabbe and Goyle.

Pansy noticed us first "Oh." She said through gritted teeth. "You're back."

"I missed you." I told her, and then turned back to Malfoy. "We'll all fit in a carriage together, right? Jess wants to catch up with Zabini."

Draco made to answer, but before he could, a first year so tiny that he barely reached Draco's waist bumped into him.

"Oh!" The first year stuttered. "Oh! Oh! I'm sorry- d'you know where…."

Draco did not look impressed. "Do I know what? Where your meant to be?" The first year nodded eagerly. "Do I _look_ like your mother, shrimp?" he asked scathingly. "It's hardly my problem if you weren't paying attention…."

"Malfoy!" I looked over to see one of Potter's friends- the girl with the ridiculous hair- approaching. "You leave that poor child alone!"

Draco smiled. "Oh look, mudblood to the rescue." Crabbe and Goyle laughed and Pansy shrieked with mirth. Only Blaise and Jess seemed unamused, although the pair of them seemed to think it was tedious rather than disgusting.

"Draco." I said warningly, but he ignored me.

"Why don't you run and fetch Potter?" He suggested to the bushy-haired girl, while the first year took the opportunity to flee. "He'll no doubt jump at the chance to save the ickle first year from the big bad Slytherins."

The girl seemed unimpressed. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she snarled. "You'd better toe the line this year, Malfoy." She warned him. "I'll be watching you."

And with that, she spun on her heel and ran away.

I watched her go, blinking in shock. "Who was that?"

Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Estelle. Just one of Potter's pet mudbloods." He told me. "Lets get a carriage. And you can tell me _all_ about why you exposed yourself to Gryffindors."

We can skip ahead now, if you like.

Just a few months.

...

"Oh. Estelle."

I frowned, looking up at the idiot who'd rammed into me, "Potter?"

He shook his head sharply and smiled tightly, "ah-sorry. About- well, bumping into you." Despite this apology, he stayed right where he was, one hand on my arm, steadying me, the other against the wall. I was fairly pinned in place.

I shrugged, "yeah, no problem, just- move, maybe. I'm late for class."

He stared at me for a while, just looking into my eyes with an intensity which was disturbing and unfounded. I raised an eyebrow, "did you need something?"

He blinked quickly, "huh? Oh. Um, not really. Just thought I'd say hello. Hey, I meant to ask- who's your father?"

Now it was my turn to blink, "I'm _sorry_? Who is my father? What- _why_ would you ask that?"

He shrugged, "just- checking something. I'm only after his name- nothing big. So, what _is_ his name? He's a Dahlquist, right?"

He was mocking me- he had to be. To bring up my illegitimacy, the thorn in my side, the stain on my reputation- it was cruel. I bared my teeth like a dog and tore my arm from his grasp. He looked genuinely at a loss as I snarled at him.

"Oh, Fuck off, Potter! I have no idea who that loser was- what matters is that he didn't stick around to foul up my life like most people's dads do. I guess _you_ could probably relate to that."

He looked shocked and confused. I didn't care. I just wanted to get away from him, but as I made to leave, he grabbed my hand again, "hey, I don't know what I said, but I didn't mean to offend you…." He began, "I mean, I just figured that, since he's your dad, you'd know his name…."

"You know what?" I snapped, "why don't you just bugger off?"

"That came out wrong!" Potter insisted now, "I didn't mean to point out that you didn't know who he is- I just thought you'd know, because most people do…."

"Stop talking!" I hissed, "what is the _matter _with you? Go away!"

"I just keep putting my foot in it…." he muttered.

"Yes, you do." I agreed, hoping my eyes were suitably angry looking. I could usually manage to make them seem furious- they're grey, but when I'm angry, they sometimes darken to close to black, "don't you have better things to do- like fighting Voldemort or something, seeing as how he's _back_ and all?"

Somebody passing by sniggered, and Potter's mouth firmed into a hard line, "fine." He said, letting go of my arm, "whatever. Sorry I bumped you."

And that was the first time I ever spoke to Harry Potter.

Also, it was the first time that Draco got actually angry at me. My next class was potions, and I headed there, seeing red the whole way.

I hate potions. Professor Snape hates me. A lot. I never knew what I did to him, but ever since I'd arrived at the school, he was the only teacher who didn't fall for my charm and my intelligence. He actually sneered at me when he first heard my name, "_Dahlquist_, was it? How- ironic." Draco told me that Snape and my mother were at Hogwarts together for a while- he probably just had a falling out with her. But that bothered me.

I loved my mother, worshipped her! No matter how much she cried, no matter how sad she was sometimes. I didn't like the idea that anybody could hate her.

And so I didn't like Snape.

From that day forward, I began to give him grief whenever I could. He was the head of my house, but he treated me like a pariah, and so I became one in his class. For everybody else I was a sainted student- not so for Snape.

And he _revelled_ in the opportunities to tell me off.

So when, on that day, I walked into potions ten minutes late and with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, he looked up at me, and smiled.

"Decided to grace us with your presence, have you, miss Dahlquist?" he said silkily, vapourising my cigarette with one smooth flick of his wand. I watched it disappear with a sigh. In the dimly lit dungeons, his face looked like a wax mask, especially with the blackness of his eyes. Being quite pale myself, I knew I stood out in the dungeons- everybody could see me, with my long, light hair and white skin. So I kept a smile on my face.

"I'm sure you'll make me regret it as a decision," I said sadly, "but yes, I have."

This was the part where he docked points from Slytherin for my insolence, and as I watched, his trademark sneer appeared. But then it changed- Snape's eyes drifted off of mine, fixing on something clearly disgusting behind me. I wondered if there was something gross stuck to the wall. From the look on his face, whatever it is was fairly sickening.

"And Mr Potter, as well. We are blessed today, students. So far as I know, you are not actually in this particular class, Potter. If you sought to find a lesson where your dismal potions skills would not seem out of place, you should try the first years' classes- come back at one."

Surely it couldn't be. I shot a quick look over my shoulder. Perhaps it could. That was the gross thing? Figures. Potter was standing there, holding absolute armfuls of books. Excessive, surely, for one lesson…. Oh.

"You dropped these," Potter said to me, ignoring Snape, and my giggling classmates. At a loss, I held out my arms, frowning as I tried to work him out. He smiled at my facial expression (distrust) and carefully put my potions books down into my hands, "I really didn't mean to offend you," he said quietly.

He seemed- _earnest_.

And his eyes were _very_ pretty. I shook my head sharply, concentrating on my potions books, which were digging into my arm quite painfully. It allowed me to collect my thoughts and sound suitably irritated.

"Whatever." I shrugged, then noticed something, "were you planning on keeping my inkwell, or…?"

His expression was comical, "oh yeah," he shifted the books into one arm, and passed me my inkwell, "there you go." But he didn't leave, just stood there, looking expectant.

"Gee, thanks." I said sharply, "for not stealing my stuff after you assaulted me."

He frowned a little, "you're not like I expected," he said slowly.

"Well, sorry if I don't live up to your expectations," I said, exasperated, "I think I'll go and cry myself to sleep tonight."

"Surely your lovers quarrels need not take place during my lessons." Snape interrupted cruelly, "unless you feel that this little, cross-house, Romeo and Juliet scenario is _more_ vital to passing your fourth year, more _educational_ than shrinking solutions." He smiled tightly, "I suppose that even though this lesson is on the curriculum as _compulsory_, we could learn more from your little spat." His eyes gleamed in the darkness, "no doubt, when your classmates sit a test on this lesson, they will pass with flying colours!"

Immediately, the mood turned from amused to furious.

"Take it outside, Dahlquist!" Marcus Cleevebridge shouted, "or get a room!"

"Yeah, there's not enough room in this one- you and your massive ego have taken up all the space," I snapped at him. Potter smiled at me as though we were sharing a joke, and I turned my rage on him, "did you not have a class now?" I asked.

He shrugged, frowning again, and left.

"Well…. How diverting." Snape drawled, "now perhaps if you would _sit_, Miss Dahlquist, we could get to the _learning _part of this class."

I sat, burying my head in my hands.

Utter humiliation.

And in front of half the Slytherins in my year- Draco would know within seconds of the end of class.

"Partner?" I looked next to me. A Gryffindor I didn't know was waiting expectantly for an answer, fiddling with the camera hanging around his neck.

I eyed him warily. "Sorry?"

"Did you want to partner? You know, for making the potion," he asked again, earnestly. What was his name? It started with a 'C', I was pretty sure, "I mean," he continued, "if you already have a partner…"

"I'll partner you, Dahlquist!" Cleevebridge called from two rows back, making immature thrusting movements and grinning like an idiot. I rolled my eyes, and turned back to the Gryffindor, a clear look of inquiry on my face. He got the message, "I was wondering how you knew Harry Potter," he said honestly, "how _do_ you know Harry?"

Men. Do they always have an ulterior motive?

"Look, um…." I began

"Colin," he supplied helpfully, "Colin Creevey- we have met."

"Colin," I said, ignoring his last comment, "I don't know Potter. Hell, I don't know him and already I don't like him. I think if you want to have a nice long chat about him, you'd best look elsewhere. I think if you talk about crazy people, you're just encouraging them."

He frowned, "he's not crazy." He said with certainty, "You Know Who _is_ back- I believe him!"

I smiled tightly, "ok, well, whatever. We can cross that bridge when we come to it," my eyes drifted over to Snape, staring at us with evil intent from his podium, "but at the moment, the only evil, slave driving wizard I can see is Snape, and he'll kill us if we don't get started. So why don't you give up on this little cross-house merger and go back to the Gryffindor side of the dungeon?"

He looked annoyed, insulted. Well, I didn't really mind. Jess was waiting to partner me, looking impatient, and I was hardly going to spend a long time moping about a Gryffindor being upset with me.

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and focused on the task ahead, dreading lunch time- dreading explaining to Draco.

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A/N: Again, please review! keep me motivated.


	4. Chapter 4

I had barely made it into the great hall when Draco caught up with me. I'd been sitting down less than a minute, and hadn't even had time to serve myself some of the delicious looking pumpkin pie before I felt him scoot down beside me on the bench.

Obligingly, Jess shuffled to the side, shooting me an apologetic look and my cousin squeezed between us.

"Elle, I've been hearing some gossip about you," Draco smiled down at me, and I thumped my head down on the table.

"It isn't what it sounded like," I said, voice muffled my plate, "_he_ followed _me_ to class, "don't get all pissy at me."

From the other side of the table, Jess valiantly took up my case, "it's true, Draco," she said, "he followed her in, and she _tried_ to make him leave, it just looked really bad. That's why everybody in the year thinks they must be dating in secret."

I sat upright, levelling her with my famous glare. She flushed and turned away, "yeah, thank you for helping, Jess." Resignedly, I turned back to Draco. Crabbe and Goyle were flanking him, with typically identical stupid expressions on their stupid faces, "Drake," I said calmly, "the tosser rammed into me in the hall- knocked all my stuff out of my hands…. And I left some of it behind, he just brought it to me. I didn't ask him to or anything, really!"

"Well, you shouldn't have spoken to him!" Draco snapped, "I mean, you do realise what an idiot he is? How much of a blood traitor?"

I hated it when Draco got preachy, "yeah, Drake, I get it, he's a dick. You don't need to tell me that, really."

He was flushed now, his usually pale cheeks all splotched with red, so that his white eyebrows stood out, "well it looks like you _do_ need to be told- otherwise you wouldn't have talked to him at all!"

That wasn't fair. I hitched my legs out from under the table and swung them over the bench so I could face Draco, "well, what was I supposed to do?" I asked, "he wasn't leaving, and I couldn't just ignore him till he got bored and wandered off, could I?"

"You really should have, Estelle," Draco snapped, "we shouldn't talk to him- he only causes us trouble."

I don't particularly like being told what to do- this was no exception. I shrugged, "well he didn't bring me trouble," I said, looking to provoke a reaction, "he just brought me my books."

"Estelle," Draco began warningly.

I shot him a bright smile, "I think he's quite nice!" I announced loudly, waving vaguely in the direction of the Gryffindor table. Of course, there was nobody there I was waving at- I didn't even know if Potter was around, but the action itself was enough to piss off Draco.

"Stop it." he snapped, "you don't know what you're playing with here." He sounded very serious, and almost threatening, but I wasn't going to back down now.

I smiled conspiratorially and leaned closer to him, "it isn't _fire_ now, is it?" I replied, and his nostrils flared.

There was a sudden thump between us as Zabini plonked his books down on the table, upending everything around him with his trademark lack of regard.

"Afternoon, Draco." He said easily, and then, to my surprise. "Dahlquist."

Across the table, Pansy paused midway through taking a bite of her sandwich in order to gape in disbelief. Blaise wasn't usually one for civilities.

"Zabini." I acknowledged emotionlessly.

He turned his cool gaze from me to Draco, and frowned a little. "What." He drawled, "has happened to make the two of you so dull today?"

Draco frowned. "She was _flirting_ with Potter, Blaise." He snapped. "Flirting! With that lunatic."

"He isn't a _lunatic_." I said, exasperatedly, before shooting another look over at the Gryffindor table. Potter had appeared, and was laughing at one of his friends who had stuck a breadstick stuck up each of their nostrils. "I think, anyway."

"Flirting?" Blaise asked scathingly. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was simultaneously filling his goblet so full of pumpkin juice that it was overflowing.

I turned to him and batted my eyelids sweetly. "We're planning a June wedding." I simpered, and Draco growled. With a sigh, I recanted. "We weren't flirting." I said, but then, my maliciousness kicked in, again. "We're just _friends_ after all."

"Listen to me, Dahlquist," Draco said sharply, and I started- he'd not ever referred to me as anything other than Estelle before, "you live here on my father's charity, and my father has reason to bear a grudge against _Potter_," he spat the name, "so unless you want to go back to your orphanage in France- back to Beauxbatons, you'd best think about who you make _friends_ with."

I hate it when people say things like that- I resent the idea that I'm a charity case.

"And why not?" I asked him, in scathing French, "when the company there is so infinitely preferable to yours. Not saying a lot, considering that they're all prejudiced snobs, but at least they know how to _pretend_ civility."

Draco doesn't speak French. He blinked at me- confused. I didn't wait around to see if he wanted a translation. I just picked up my books and flounced off.

I am very, _very_ good at flouncing. I get that from my mother.

Jess followed after me. "Hold up." She called. "We have Defence Against the Dark Arts now."

I sniffed. "Joyous."

At first, I'd liked Umbridge's methods. Even though she looked like a cupcake had vomited up all its sweetness on her, we did no work in her classes. Considering how much of a slave driver Macgonnagal was, it was a relief to sit down and gossip quietly rather than practice spells.

But lately, I'd been getting tired of her sickly-sweet comments and patronizing instructions. Not to mention that the book we were reading was the dullest tome known to man.

"I think." I said, consideringly, "that I might play up a little bit in class today."

Jess frowned. "Oh, _don't_. She gave one of the second years detention the other week- he ran straight to Snape. Apparently she's insane."

My grin was a little unhinged. "So am I. When I get bored." Jess snorted and we continued up the hall. "And I'm bored now."

…..

We had Defence with the Ravenclaws.

After the Gryffindors, who hated all Slytherins, Ravenclaws were the worst class to ally with when causing trouble. They were all so dedicated to studying that the mention of breaking the rules scandalized them. So I knew I wasn't going to get too much support from that corner.

Still, Slytherins rarely needed anybody else, and it was even rarer that we had any allies.

Jess and I took seats at the back of the classroom, and I absently lit up a fag.

"So." She said quietly, and I turned to her. "Harry Potter."

One of the Ravenclaw boys sitting across from us turned to look at us, one eyebrow raised. I didn't quite recognise him, but i thought his name might be Michael or Mitchell. Mitchell Corner, perhaps. Whoever he was, he was listening more obviously than was strictly polite. Ah, the English. So unpracticed when it came to intrigues.. At Beauxbatons, eavesdroppers were subtle.

"Shut up, Jess." I warned her. "You heard Draco. He'll probably kill me if this spreads around the school."

"_So_?" Jess squealed, leaning forwards and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. "How did you two meet?"

"We _haven't_." I growled, glancing back at the Ravenclaw. He was still watching, still listening. For his benefit, I spoke loudly. "Look, he's just a crazy attention seeker who assaulted me and then returned my things. That's _all_."

At that moment, Umbridge waddled into the room, smiling broadly at us all. "Good morning, Class." She sang happily.

Feeling even less cooperative than I had before, I shot her a lazy salute while my classmates replied dully to her greeting. Jess shot me a glare.

"_Please_." She muttered. "Don't be an idiot. If you play up now, Draco really _will_ be annoyed."

"Good." I hissed back at her. "I'm sick of him trying to govern me." And I leant back in my chair, ready to attack.

Suddenly, by my side, Jess stood up.

"Professor." She said respectfully. "Estelle is feeling ill."

"What?" I asked, sitting forwards and looking up at her. Stoically, Jess continued.

"She's had a headache all day- can I take her to the hospital wing?"

Still gaping in shock, I felt Umbridge's toady little eyes focus in on me. There was a long moment as she studied my face. I had the odd impression that this was the first time that she'd actually _seen_ me.

"_Hem hem_." She said, perhaps more from habit than from anything else. "And you are?"

I was going to kill Jess. "Estelle Dahlquist, Professor." I said.

She smirked. "French?"

Sighing, I nodded. "I was."

"Well." She said, clasping her hands and beaming grotesquely at the class. "You _do_ look pasty. Perhaps you may, this once, be excused."

Jess dragged me out of the room before I could say another word. Once we were outside, I turned to her angrily.

"What was that?" I snapped. "You're insane!"

Jess shook her head vigorously. "Don't be stupid, Estelle. I just saved you from yourself." I scoffed, and she grabbed my shoulders. Being quite a bit shorter than me, this was difficult for her. "She really is insane. That second year had _scars_ on her hand after detention with Umbridge."

Annoyed, I rolled my eyes. "I'm not _scared_ of her." I insisted, throwing my hands up in frustration. "She's just a pathetic little woman who gets her kicks out of abusing teenagers."

"_Hem hem_." Startled, I turned around to find the subject of our conversation standing inches behind me, her head cocked to one side as she considered us.

"Oh! Professor." Jess simpered. "We were just on our way….."

"Ten points from Slytherin." Umbridge said sweetly. "Now get back into class." Cowed, Jess headed back to the room, head bowed. Umbridge watched her go for a moment, then turned back to me. "Now, Miss Dahlquist. Your headache has improved?"

I shrugged noncommittally. Umbridge gave a little sigh. "Well, Miss Dahlquist." She said. "You'd best go to Madam Pomfrey, and, Miss Dahlquist?"

I had been in the process of running away, but at the sound of her voice I paused, looking back at her. She was still smiling at me, smoothing her frilly pink cardigan down with her stubby little fingers.

"I'll be expecting a full summary of the past three chapters of your textbook- on my desk by tomorrow, I think." I felt myself seething as she simpered. "After all, we wouldn't want you to fall behind."

….

Days pass. Weeks pass. Months pass.

You surely don't care about the monotony of my life. You don't care about the late nights spent writing half hearted potions essays. You don't care about the many times I hexed Crabbe for his fumbling attempts to hit on me in the common room. You don't care about when Maryse Pewterfoyle called me a 'French whore', or when to prove her right, I made out with her boyfriend.

You don't care about any of that.

So why not skip ahead? Why not jump headlong into the next time that Potter cornered me? The next time he very nearly provoked me into hexing his balls off.

Let's start there.

"Merde!" I yelped, pulling my arm away from whoever had grabbed it. They didn't let go straight away, and the end result was that my armfuls of parchment and textbooks went flying through the air in an impressive arc. When I turned around, ready to swear my assailant into shame, I found myself sighing in exasperation, "Again, Potter?"

He gave me a sheepish grin and I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, "well, did you want us to get this over with?" I asked, dropping the remaining few books I still held in my arms with a malicious little smile, "oops. You've knocked my books out of my hands. Shocker." I fell to my knees and began to gather up all of the books and inkwells. Potter cleared his throat awkwardly and fell into a crouch beside me, pushing all my stuff into a messy pile for me.

"Sorry, Estelle." He said, sort of shamefaced, but still so jovial.

"Dahlquist," I corrected, passing him my transfiguration book as I rose to my feet, trying to balance the armfuls of books.

"Dahlquist, right," he said with a little chuckle, "okay."

I watched him, waiting. A little time passed before he looked up, seeming almost surprised to see that I was still there.

"You grabbed my arm," I pointed out, somewhat annoyed, "unless sprinkling girls' books all over the corridors is your weird way of flirting, I'm going to have to assume you wanted to talk to me."

His grin was disproportionate to my words, and as I blinked in bemusement, his eyes searched my face before fixing on my eyes. And his smile widened, "right. Talk to you. Yup."

"Okay," I said, wondering whether I should have just left.

"Talk." He repeated slowly.

I shrugged with one shoulder, sort of awkward, and took another step away from him, "so….?" I asked.

"Look," he said, sliding in closer to me, and staring into my eyes, "I just realised that we've never really spoken, and I wanted to remedy that."

What?

"You realise that you can talk to people without yanking their arms out of their sockets." I asked sardonically.

"Sorry about that." He shot me a grin, "like I said, it's just that I don't know you that well, and I think that, seeing as we've been in the same place for the past few years, it was about time that changed."

"So, you're trying to, what, talk to everybody in the school? Get to know all your fellow students?" I asked, confused.

He frowned, "What? No, I just wanted to talk to _you,"_ I made a sceptical face and he faltered, "because, your dad…."

"I'm sorry," I cut in, "but I really have no idea what you're on about. This isn't making a whole lot of sense, really, is it?" I paused, thinking over what he'd just said, "wait, my _dad_.. what?" He wasn't starting this again, was he?

He shook his head sharply, as though waking himself up, "no! No, your, um, mum. _My_ dad. And my mum." I had no idea what he was trying to say, "no, your mum went here- to Hogwarts, and she was friends with my parents."

I thought about this, "you mind telling me how you figured that out, seeing as how your parents are sort of- well….."

"Photos!" Potter almost shouted. I blinked, and he looked sort of relieved to have spat out an excuse. He smiled a little and began again, calmer, "I found some photos of my dad and your-er- mum. They were really good friends- she was important to my dad. To my mum, also. So I wanted to get to know you."

Again, what?

"Yeah, okay, Potter," I said, wishing Draco would pop up from somewhere and save me from this weirdo,. Perhaps he _was_ a lunatic. "How did you know it was my mum?"

He smiled, "she looks _just _like you. Like, identical. Except for your eyes.."

This was reaching a whole new level of creepy, I decided, smiling brightly- it doesn't do to irritate a maniac, "well, how sweet."

Mum had never mentioned the Potters. Or Hogwarts at all for that matter. Why should I listen to this boy- the 'boy who lived'- like he was anything to do with me? After all, my mum was a Slytherin, I'm told, and I know James Potter was as Gryffindor as they came- him and his band of delinquent tag-alongs. Why should his wife- I forgot her name- have been any different? Why would my mother have associated with Gryffindors?

"My mum really loved yours," Potter was saying now, quietly, "a lot. I think it'd be good if we talked about them….."

I could feel that part of me, the part where I kept my mother and my father bottled up, stinging in anticipation of pain. Remembering was always a bad idea.

"No thanks." I said quickly, "I don't know why I should do that, Potter."

He frowned, "don't you want to know what she was like when she was younger? Happier?"

"Happier?" I enunciated carefully. Potter shifted uncomfortably. "What exactly are you trying to say?" I asked him, my eyes narrowing, "what are you implying?"

He put his hands up in supplication, "nothing! Nothing bad- I just thought you might be interested in this….." he whipped out a photo from his pocket, thrusting it into my hands.

In it, a pretty red headed girl grinned at the camera from in front of the Lake, here at Hogwarts. By her side was a tall boy with his arms wrapped protectively around her, rocking her gently from side to side. He looked a lot like Potter.

But I didn't care about them. Because, lying on the ground, with robes all scrunched and messy, and hair flying everywhere, was my mother. She laughed up at the camera with genuine joy, pushing her blonde hair- my hair- out of her eyes and squinting up at the photographer. Potter was right- she looked just like me. That was my nose, my mouth. My hair. My figure. Except that I was sure I wasn't that beautiful.

Because she was _so_ beautiful- so jubilant! You could tell that she was enjoying her life, and almost challenging anything bad to happen.

I wondered if I ever looked like that.

Probably not. I was too reserved- too sullen.

Frowning, I thumbed the little photographic version of my mother's face as she laughed. I had only ever known her to be sad, but look at her. She was joy itself- joy in life. In the world. Such a far cry from the defeated woman of my youth. What had happened to change her so?

Almost as soon as the thought crossed my mind, my eyes caught on the dark figure crouched close behind my mother. He was about her age, winking conspiratorially at the camera as he reached out two fingers to form bunny ears above her head. As I watched, my mother's grin turned devious, and she kicked out at him. He caught her foot easily, and dragged her closer, not troubled by her laughing attempts to wriggle free. He finally grabbed her, pulling her into a hug and pretending to give her a noogie while she laughed and pushed at him. On the other side of the photo, Potter's parents laughed at the spectacle, and the boy grinned imperiously at the photographer.

I smiled a little as I looked, "nicely done, mum," I whispered, admiring the boy. Because he really was incredibly good looking, with flawless skin, and thick, lustrous black hair, which fell silkily into his eyes. His features were handsome, and aristocratic, and his eyes were as grey as my own.

"Who is that?" I asked Potter quickly, feeling something stir in the pit of my stomach. He leaned over, scanning the picture.

"That?" he chuckled nervously, "pretty much nobody. Just a friend of my dad's- not sure of his name." he sounded like he was lying, and he refused to meet my eyes. But I didn't care enough to press it.

Then I noticed another figure, to the side of my mother and the boy. He was looking at them with an unreadable expression, before his gaze shifted to the camera, and he smiled tiredly. But every so often, his eyes would flick back to my mum. He had shaggy, messy hair, pale skin, rumpled clothes, and tired looking gold eyes.

"Hey." I whispered, "that's that man from the station."

Potter leaned over again, "Lupin? Yeah, I guess. D'you know him? I thought you got here after he left the Defence Against the Dark Arts job."

I shrugged, "can't say I'm too sure. Maybe." And then I mustered up a little bit of courage, "could I – maybe, keep this? That is, only if you have another copy…."

He frowned, "oh! Yeah, I mean- I could probably find one around….." even as he said it, though, I could see him eyeing the photo longingly. I looked back at it, seeing the soon-to-be Potters wave happily at the camera, then smile back at each other.

Oh.

I sniffed, "I was joking, Potter," I said scathingly, passing the photo back to him, "did you really think I hadn't seen photos of my mum when she was younger? Please."

He turned a little red and took the photo back, smoothing it out lovingly and placing it carefully in his pocket, "well, sorry. I just thought you'd be interested."

With a shrug of intense disinterest, I said, "well, maybe you should leave 'thinking' to the big kids- you don't seem quite capable."

My mum would never have been so cruel to somebody who didn't deserve it, I was sure. She probably would have smiled at Potter, patted him on the shoulder, given him a pretty wink. I wasn't like that.

I wished I was. Before I could stop myself, I looked at Potter's pocket, inside which a 2D version of my mother laughed in the sunlight, a handsome boy holding her close.

How long would it have been- ten years, maybe? Ten, before she couldn't bear the pain anymore. Ten before she was dead, and I was alone?

And in that photo, I wasn't even a distant possibility. It is strange to think about, really. And difficult to pretend it wasn't connected.

That when I was not even a distant possibility, she was happy- so happy. But when I was around, she had so many days of sadness. So many days when she'd been so sad.

I was a child, then, and even I saw it so clearly that it was like a knife in my gut. Sometimes, she'd cry wildly, cursing a man she never named and weeping bitterly into her clenched fists.

She wouldn't tell me about him, but I knew that he was bad. She'd cry for 'Lily' and 'James' and 'Remus'. But she would never name that one man, the one she wept for the most. The one she hated so much, and loved so much.

More often, she'd go through periods of melancholic rage, if there is such a thing. Her eyes would snap wildly, and sometimes when she looked at me, I could tell that it wasn't my face she was seeing.

She usually knew when she was sinking into one of those moods. She'd become withdrawn, and stare out the window, digging her nails into the sill so hard that she'd gouge the wood. And then she'd look at me with that odd, blank stare. It didn't frighten me so much as make me sad. Because it was clear to me then that she was in pain.

And then, her blank stare would crack, and she'd see _me_ instead of whoever else she was thinking about, and she'd pack a bag quick smart and deposit me over at Monsieur Tonton's house, next door.

I shook those thoughts from my head- they weren't at all helpful. And yet, I couldn't help but wonder; if my mother was so sad when before she'd been so happy, how sad was I- never happy, always bitter- going to become with age?

And in that second, without realising it, I made a decision.

"Potter." I called, almost reluctantly. He stopped in his path walking away from me and turned around, "did you have a copy of that photo, on second thoughts? Could you make one?"

He smiled brightly at me, but just as suddenly, the smile faded, "I don't know how," he admitted, "but I'll look into it for you, Estelle. I have a friend who is really good with cameras- he'd be happy to help."

I struggled against raising an eyebrow at his familiar way of addressing me, and instead forced myself to smile, "thanks. I'd appreciate that."

He grinned at me, and I found my own smile growing a little more genuine in return. Tucking a piece of hair behind my ears, and balancing my armloads of books, a raised a hand to my forehead in a little salute and turned to leave.

"Oh, wait- Estelle!"

I turned around to see Potter jogging towards me. Biting down the urge to remind him again (it was _Dahlquist_), I raised an eyebrow.

"You, er-" he held a textbook out to me. My transfiguration one that I'd passed him at the start of the conversation, "you left this. I didn't want you to call me out for stealing again,"

I appreciated his little joke and rolled my eyes, shifting the weight of my books onto my hip, "no, Potter. You hold on to that one." I told him. He blinked, confused, "otherwise you've got no reason to talk to me again."

He smiled, and I noticed (how many times now?) that he had the loveliest eyes I'd ever seen.

"It's a date, Estelle." He said happily.

"Dahlquist," I corrected, before I could stop myself. But, though my mouth twisted with distaste at the mention of a 'date', I let that one slide.

But his smile just got a little wider and my superior airs and he shook his head, as though amused, "right. _Dahlquist_."

And then he jogged off.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thank you for the reviews I've gotten- I'm so glad you like the story. I'll try and be regular with the updates.  
>Next chapter will probably be the eventful Slytherin vs Gryffindor quidditch match.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

A few weeks later, that photo of Potter's was still on my mind.

Every morning, I'd look at myself in the mirror, bleay-eyed, and wonder if today I looked happy, like my mother had in that photo.

But every morning, I just looked like me. Too pale- pasty, really. Messy hair. And my eyes, most of all. Maman's eyes were large and dark blue. They were beautiful and soulful and full of mischief and laughter.

My eyes aren't like hers.

Mine are almost too big- they dominate my face. And they're grey, like the sky before rain. I suppose, on first glance, they're rather lovely.

But they're empty, and every time I look in the mirror, I see that. It jumps out at me, and I can't imagine that other people don't see it. Can't they tell that I'm a mess, when my eyes are so dead?

But nobody does, and I wear dark eye make-up that makes my skin look paler, and I scrape my hair into loose plaits or ponytails, or tie it up with a ribbon. I wear my robes little short so that they're too busy looking at my legs to notice that I'm a zombie.

But I don't think it works.

In fact, I'm sure it doesn't.

…

A few weeks later, in potions, the Gryffindor boy approached me again. I was sleeping in the back of the classroom, ignoring the notes that Marcus Cleevebridge kept sending my way. Every now and then, on Jess' request, I wake up and make little origami dragons.

My other friend, Carmeline Burke, was sitting with us, and she's brilliant at charms. She would tap each dragon I made with her wand, and it would fly around the class, breathing little bits of shredded paper out of its mouth.

What I most decidedly was _not_ doing, was making the assigned potion.

"No smoking in my class, Dahlquist." I heard Snape drawl, and felt my cigarette disappear from between my lips.

"That's probably a full pack you owe me now, Professor." I muttered sleepily. I was rudely jolted into consciousness as Snape flicked his wand, sending my chair toppling backwards.

"No _sleeping_ in my class, Dahlquist." He said silkily.

As happened whenever he bullied me, there was an uncomfortable silence in the classroom. If Snape targeted Gryffindors, the Slytherins would laugh uproariously, but I was one of their own, and they could not mock my misfortune.

The Gryffindors, meanwhile, could not bear to laugh along with Snape no matter how much they loved to see a Slytherin suffer. They seemed to feel that it communicated some sort of camaraderie between them and the professor.

Nobody really knew what to do. Except me.

"Professor." I said sweetly, "You just showed the entire class my underwear."

But, just as the Slytherins didn't like to laugh at me, they hated to laugh at Snape. Similarly, the Gryffindors loved seeing Snape humiliated, but hated me, so wouldn't laugh at my jokes.

It was a Catch 22.

The awkward silence was just an inevitable result of my tiffs with Snape.

In a way, I think that's part of the fun.

"20 points from Slytherin, for vulgarity." Snape announced, deadpan. And there it was, the reason that I could never, ever win- he had the trump card. As per usual, his hatred of me outweighed his desire to see his own house win the House Cup.

I smiled sweetly. "Are you going to deduct them from yourself, as well. Considering that this was your fault?"

He merely smiled. "Perhaps you'd benefit from a change of scenery." He suggested calmly. Marcus had been playing with my hair from behind me. Now he paused. I could sense his aghast expression. Jess and Carmeline exchanged scandalised looks.

Snape was going to move me away from the Slytherins.

Without breaking our little staring contest, I gathered my things and sashayed over to the Gryffindor side of the room, dumping myself into the first desk I saw. The Gryffindor next to me slid as far away as she could manage, as though being in Slytherin was contagious.

I raised an eyebrow in Snape's direction. "I don't feel any better." I called. He just smiled, and without looking away, reached up and plucked one of our enchanted paper dragons from the air, crushing it in his hand. _"Work_." He ordered the rest of the class, in a deceptively soft voice.

They worked.

I didn't. Exhaling with annoyance, I glanced around me. It looked as though I would have to start from scratch, and none of the Gryffindors would ever partner me. Even as I thought this, I caught the eye of the redheaded Weasley girl. She'd called me a slut, as I recalled. Now, she smirked at me before turning back to her work.

"Hi." I looked over my shoulder to see the Gryffindor from months before. I frowned at him, and he sighed. "It's _Colin_." He muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Hello." I said warily.

He looked eager, despite my reticence. "I have something for you- Harry gave it to me!"

Shit. I glanced back at the Slytherins, but none of them had noticed, thankfully! I hadn't been so lucky with the Gryffindors. The Weaslette was watching me through guarded eyes, and another boy was staring at me from beside Colin.

"What?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Colin laughed. "A photo!" he exclaimed. "I'm obsessed with photography, so when you asked Harry for a copy of that photo…" Could he get louder? I wished there were a way for me to shush him. "…Anyway, I knew how to reprint it, so I did. On matte paper, hopefully that's alright with you. And I made it a little bigger than the normal size, so…."

"Cool." I said quickly, cutting him off. "So where is it?"

His smile faltered, but he passed me an envelope anyway. I peeked inside. Yes- there she was- my beautiful mother. Suddenly, I became aware that the boy was still talking to me. "Sorry, what?"

He grinned. Really, was there a happier child in the universe? "I just said that you look just like your mother. Is that your father in the photo, too?"

I shrugged, only half listening. "Not sure. Don't think so." And then, just out of habit. "My father is a dog." The boy looked a little taken aback, but he must have assumed I meant figuratively. He just nodded, and I sighed. "Well, thanks for this." I waved the envelope at him.

He laughed. "No problem. I'm happy to help."

And he seemed to be, too. That was what really confused me.

Why would a Gryffindor help a Slytherin?

…

"Quidditch?" I asked, trying not to sound too bored, "really?"

Draco shot me a glare, "you don't want to watch me play?"

He'd cornered me at breakfast, desperate to force me into coming to his upcoming game against Gryffindor. Jess was sleeping in and Carmeline had been too shy to protest when Draco had pushed her out of the way and begun to wax lyrical on the importance of this match. He'd been talking of nothing else for weeks.

It was borderline obsessive. A few times, he, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle had even spent their evening heckling the Gryffindor team as they practiced. Draco was particularly disdainful of the new keeper- another Weasley, I thought.

I shrugged, "honestly, Drake, you know I couldn't care less about quidditch…."

"Because they won't let any girls on the team, right?" Blaise asked, quirking up an eyebrow suggestively as he slid onto the bench opposite me, "you're standing up for the rights of female Slytherins everywhere."

"What's it to you, Zabini?" I snapped at him, "you're not exactly a quidditch enthusiast yourself."

Lately, he'd been speaking to me more often than not. It made Jess swoon, Carmeline flinch and me feel ill. But I was unfazed. No matter whether he was charming or contemptuous, I knew that there just had to be an ulterior motive. It was Blaise Zabini, after all. He couldn't be trusted.

"I am a 'socialising' enthusiast," He said now, with a sniff, "and so, I attend the quidditch matches, and smile charmingly at the eligible young ladies drawn out by the promise of good old machismo and competitiveness."

Draco rolled his eyes, "you're a fool, Blaise," he said contemptuously, and Blaise shrugged, evidently in agreement.

"Anyway, Estelle, you shouldn't judge me," Blaise continued, "I'm all for having more female players on the team."

"Of course you are," I scoffed, ignoring his use of my first name. "It's so much easier to look up girls' skirts when they're hovering above you on a broom."

"You know me _so_ well, Dahlquist, it's uncanny."

"Stop _flirting_." Draco interrupted suddenly, looking impatient. He turned to me, smoothing his hair down nervously. "are you going to come to the game, Elle?"

He was always so bossy and contemptuous, and often downright malicious. But when it came down to it, family was important to Draco. _Success_ was important to Draco. And if nobody witnessed his successes, they didn't feel as good to him. I knew my presence there was important.

I sighed, "yes, Drake, I'll be there. Jess has a major crush on Pucey, so she'll want to be proving her devotion in the sidelines."

Blaise's head quirked up from where he'd been leaning on the table, "Jess? As in Jess Osyth?"

I took the opportunity to pull his textbooks over to me. They were in pristine condition. In fact, I doubted that they'd ever been opened. But however I found them, they served their purpose- an excuse for me not to reply. I didn't want to be involved in this conversation.

Whenever Blaise heard that a girl, a _Slytherin_ girl, had feelings for another boy, he felt irrationally jealous. Probably because he felt that he had some sort of ownership rights over the pureblood girls, and perhaps he did. They all came running quickly enough when he called them, in any case.

"Yes, Jess Osyth." Draco rolled his eyes, "normally I'd tell you to back off, but Pucey's been getting a little cocky lately. I think you should humiliate the poor little git."

Flicking through Blaise's charms textbook, I sighed. "Cruel."

"Not _cruel_," Draco corrected me. "_Prudent_. I'm being _prudent_."

"I agree." Pansy appeared on Draco's other side. Looking away from me, she smiled sweetly at Draco. "I'm so excited for the game, Draco." She simpered. "I've actually made you a little present."

"Aaww." I drawled, looking up from a diagram on the wand movement required for summoning spells. "Is it a necklace with 'Draco and Pansy 4EVA' written on it?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, expertly reapplying her lipgloss. "Don't be _silly_, Estelle." She said, and she would almost have sounded sweet, had she not been giving me the finger. "You'll love it, Draco."

Draco looked interested. "What is it? Give me a clue!"

Pansy flicked her perfect little bob. "Alright- three words: 'Weasley is our king'." She intoned dramatically, tracing the words in the air.

I considered for a moment. "That's _four_ words, Pansy."

Draco just laughed. "Brilliant!" he called gleefully. "I cannot wait to see what you've come up with!"

She looked smug. "It is inspired." She said primly. "Really wicked. I can't wait til the match." Now she looked over at Blaise, batting her eyelashes. "Are you going, Blaise?" she asked sweetly.

He shrugged. "Probably." He said, sounding bored.

Pansy smiled sweetly at him. Then the smile disappeared. "You, Estelle?"

I opened my mouth to answer when I felt an arm slink around my shoulder. "Sure she is. With me."

I looked up to see Marcus Cleevebridge grinning like an idiot.

"Fuck off, Cleevebridge." I snarled, pushing him off me. "As if!"

"She's going with _me_." Blaise interrupted, without looking at me.

I shook my head. "You're going with _Jess_." I reminded him.

He considered. "Whatever. You're not going with Cleevebridge."

"I'll go with whoever!" I told him calmly. And then, as I saw Cleevebridge's arm sneak back up towards my shoulder: "Not _you_, Cleevebridge. Go away." Muttering angrily, he slunk off.

"So long as you _are_ going." Draco said, disinterestedly. "I don't really care who you're with.

Sighing, I met Blaise's dark gaze. Blinking, I tore my eyes away from him and bundled my books up into my arms, grabbing a piece of toast in my left hand.

"Truth be told, Drake." I said calmly. "Neither do I."

…..

"No running in the halls! Stop- stop there!"

Hissing in annoyance, I turned around to see one of Potters friends glaring at me. It was the mudblood girl- the clever one with the bushy hair and the prefect badge.

"What?" I snapped. "I'm late for class."

Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "Whether you are or not, that's no excuse for running."

Annoyed, I shifted my books from one hip to the other. "So, you're discouraging my enthusiasm for learning?" I asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sure, I was late for class, but I still had time to argue with a Gryffindor snob.

She flushed an angry red colour. "Of course not." She spluttered. "No, I'm merely _encouraging_ punctuality, and safety in the halls."

I considered. "Peeves loves this hall." I pointed out. "If I go slowly, he'll probably catch me and pour something gross all over me. Then I won't be able to see, and I'll fall and crack my skull open. _That_'s not safe, either."

The Gryffindor prefect just stared at me for a while, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. She was, I noticed actually quite pretty, in a sickeningly wholesome way. Her hair was the only part about her that wasn't controlled and pristine. Shiny shoes, regulation length robes, no nailpolish or makeup.

And most of all, the shiny, polished prefect badge.

My overwhelming emotion was disdain.

"Five points." She said, and I snapped out of my daze.

"Excuse me?"

"Five points from Slytherin." She said more firmly, "for answering back."

I grinned. "Really?" I asked, smiling a little. "You want to start this?"

She just nodded, perfectly sure of herself. "You shouldn't run in the halls, and you _shouldn't_ answer back to authority figures."

I scoffed. "Authority figures?" I grinned again. "You can't be more than a year older than me. And you're wearing uniform, just like me. Is that little piece of metal meant to change much?"

She pursed her lips. "Another five points." She said. "And if you don't get to class, I'm going to deduct ten points for skiving off class."

"_Tyran_." I muttered. "I bet that if I were a Gryffindor, you wouldn't even have stopped me."

Her smile was small and evil. "You're wrong." She said smoothly. "I took five points from Gryffindor not half an hour ago. The fact that you're Slytherin just makes it more fun."

I hissed through my teeth. "Gryffindor cow." I muttered in French, and I heard her scoff.

"I holidayed in France the summer before last." She told me, placing her hands firmly on her hips. "I actually understand some French."

My smile widened. "Oh? So you'll understand this." I began in rapid French. "That badge is a farce- you have no real power here. The power rests with the popular, and even if you _are_ friends with Potter, he no longer falls in that category. Prefect or not, you and your friends are the laughingstock of the whole school." She blinked, confused, and I felt the need to continue. Unfortunately, I had nothing more to say. Never one to let that stop me, I continued, spouting. "_A bouffé sa langue/En buvant (tronc) mon whisky/ Quant à moi peu dormi, vidé, brimé J'ai dû dormir dans la gouttière Où j'ai eu un flash_"

_Ooohh eeehh ooooh ooooh_, I finished mentally. _Ca plane pour moi_.

Her French wasn't _that_ good. She wouldn't know I was just repeating the lyrics of a French song from the 70s. I was right. She looked, if anything, unnerved by my nonsensical monologue. As I watched, she fidgeted nervously with her badge. But, just as a triumphant smile began to light up my face, she squared her shoulders and met my eyes stolidly.

"You're very rude and impertinent." She told me sternly, and her hair seemed to crackle with energy. "Just like the rest of your housemates." Was that the best she had_? __Weak_. I tried not to look too amused- it wouldn't do to make her cry.

"Are you going to take more points off?" I asked teasingly.

But rather than look affronted, she sighed and tapped her foot a few times against the floor. "No." She said finally, looking thoughtful. "Clearly house pride isn't very important to you, and as foolish as that is, it is _hardly_ something I can change."

I rolled my eyes. "True." I agreed. "So what are you going to do?"

She looked at me speculatively, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. "Well." She said, "If I thought you were worth it, I might talk to you, and try and get you to see the error of your ways. But then..." She met my eyes. "You're not really worth it."

Perhaps that was meant to upset me. Perhaps she was trying to be cruel, or maybe just to shock me. In any case, it didn't work. As so often happened when people tried to get through to me, I simply responded by clamming up. I folded my arms, shrugged scornfully and raised an eyebrow. 'Well?" I asked, sounding as disparaging as I could manage. "Can I go to class now?"

She looked almost disappointed that she hadn't had any effect. "Just go- but _don't_ run!"

I ran all the way there.

...

The day of the quidditch match, I slept in.

Perhaps that showed a lack of interest. In fact, it probably did- mostly because there was a very _definite_lack of interest in my approach. Very definite indeed.

So, it was past 11 when I stumbled down the stairs, pulling on random articles of clothing as I made my way through the empty common room. And it was past 11:30 by the time I'd finally made my way out to the stands, a piece of toast in one hand and a fag in the other.

"Estelle!" I turned around to see Jess waving languidly at me from the top of the stands. Beside her was Blaise, already looking slightly bored.

I suppose that, for him, the fun would always be in the chase.

With a sigh, I climbed up to meet them.

"You look nice." Jess said approvingly as I sank down into the seat beside her. "I like your jeans."

I shrugged. "I'm trying to be supportive." I said, gesturing to the jeans I'd charmed deep green in honour of the match."Go Slytherin!"

Jess looked sceptical. "Yeah. Because Draco just _adores_ seeing you dressed like a muggle." She was wearing jeans, too, though. And an oversized Slytherin scarf.

By her side, Blaise was wearing… the same as what he usually wore. "You look so _festive_, Zabini." I said sarcastically, taking a handful of Bertie Botts Beans from the packet Jess proffered. "I love your pairing of black jeans with a black top and black jacket. I think it's _really_ creative."

Blaise met my eyes calmly. "Go die, Dahlquist." He said, clearly bored out of his wits.

"Hi, all." I turned around to see Carmeline Burke clambering onto the seat beside me, wearing a Slytherin Quidditch top and track pants. She had to be the happiest Slytherin alive. She was always smiling, always sweet.

But her charming façade was nothing more than a front- I knew her well, and her manipulative nature was no secret, to me.

"Hey, Carmeline." I said, smiling at her. "Lucky you're here- I'm playing third wheel today."

Carmeline batted her eyelids at Blaise. "Hi, Zabini." She said, and Jess daggered her.

Blaise looked unimpressed. "I am being _mobbed_ by fourth years." He intoned dramatically. "Merlin save me, where are my friends?"

"Blaise! _There_ you are!" I started to laugh- I couldn't help it. He'd asked for friends and he'd got….

"Parkinson." Blaise's voice was supremely weary. "Where the hell did you spring from?"

"Hey, Blaise." Pansy simpered, fluffing at her bob. "Did you get a badge, yet?" Blaise shrugged one shoulder, and she tittered. "They're my present to Drake." She told him happily. "He laughed _so_ much when he saw them!"

Eagerly, she held out a hand to reveal a dozen shiny little badges. "Everybody else got them at breakfast." She told us. "You should have _seen_ the look on Potter's face. And that mudblood Granger turned _so_ red."

Looking at the badges, a small smile curved up Blaise's lips. Slowly, he picked one up, examining it. "Clever." He said.

"Well, I'm curious, now." Jess said, sounding anything but. "Lets all have a look."

"Better yet, lets all have a badge." Carmeline suggested sweetly, and Pansy grinned.

"Sure thing, Burke." She said, passing everybody around us their own badge. She stopped when she came to me. "And you, Estelle? Want a badge?"

I sighed. "I don't know. What does it say."

Beaming like a proud mother, Pansy held one out to me.

"_WEASLEY IS OUR KING_'." I read slowly. "I don't get it- which Weasley? There are hundreds of them."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever listen when Draco talks?" she asked, as though the very idea of somebody ignoring Draco was incomprehensible. "The new keeper- _Ronald_ Weasley. Potter's best friend."

I blinked, confused. "And…. He's the sort of charismatic guy who the Slytherins can get behind in a bid for house unity?" I asked sarcastically.

Carmeline snorted, but Pansy looked annoyed. "_No_." she said, her tone clipped. "He's a godawful keeper. This game is _ours_- you just wait."

And then she flounced off.

I sighed, watching her go. "That girl is _such_ a charmer." I drawled, and Carmeline laughed.

"Shut up!" Jess called over to us, frowning fiercely at the pitch. "Here come the teams."

Dutifully, I watched as Draco sped out on his broom, a tiny white-and-green blur in the distance, surrounded by other green blurs.

"Pucey looks so fit." I heard Jess say dreamily, and watched as Blaise placed a lazy hand on her knee. She shut up.

The Gryffindors emerged next, all gold, red and arrogance. "Which Weasley are we worshipping?" I asked Boredly, and Blaise pointed languidly at the last one out. I sniffed. "He looks so ordinary." I said, disdainfully. "I don't like the idea of electing a monarch whose only defining features are the fact that he sucks at quidditch, and is a redhead.

And with that, I pulled out a magazine. By my side, Carmeline laughed. "Oh, you're reading the Quibbler!"

I waggled my eyebrows at her. "That's right- and I can tell you right now, that Madame Malkins is forcing centaurs to sew her robes with their own tail hair is a problem which people don't acknowledge quite enough."

Carmeline laughed again and turned back to the match.

I didn't pay attention for the next hour or so. Every now and then, Blaise would lean over to me and say. "Score."  
>As though the throngs of cheering people around me wasn't enough to let me know that we'd gotten points.<p>

Early on, in a bizarre show of unity, the Slytherins all began to sing this inane song- again about the Weasley Keeper. At that, I looked up from doing an enchanted crossword- 'down and across'? try diagonally, backwards and swirling- to see Pansy standing at the front of the stands, enthusiastically conducting the entire house.

I felt like I'd been transported into an alternate universe. Even Jess and Carmeline knew the song. At a loss, I met Blaise's eyes.

"What?" I mouthed at him, utterly confused.

He gave a dangerous smile. "Pansy is a highly motivated little worker." He told me disparagingly. "She gets results."

This didn't clarify things for me. "_Et Alors_? I asked. "Did you all… _rehearse_ or something? Are we starting a house choir?"

He just shrugged, and looked back to the game, tapping his foot in time with the song.

Glancing at the match myself, I winced to see the Gryffindor keeper flail spectacularly, letting an easy goal in. He almost fell off his broom.

"He _is_ terrible." I said to nobody in particular, and then returned to my magazine.

I didn't look up til much later, when a roar of outrage from Slytherin jolted me back into the scene. Earlier, I'd vaguely heard Gryffindor booing, but they were on the other side of the field- I'd ignored _them_. The Slytherins were all around me. And they had _incredibly_ good projection.

"What's going on now?" I asked, looking up from the quibbler, "I wasn't watching."

"Of course not," Blaise rolled his eyes, draping an arm across Jess' shoulders, "a pity, too. It was interesting."

"Hmn?" I asked vaguely, while Jess snuggled deeper into Blaise's embrace. He ignored her. Once certain that a girl _would_ be his, if he so much a as crooked a finger in her direction, he promptly lost interest.

This had clearly already happened.

"At least you've all stopped singing." I commented optimistically. A sixth year sitting infront of me turned around, levelling me with a fierce glare. "What's his problem?"

"Potter and a Weasley just attacked Draco." Blaise said, sounding absolutely _amused_. As though something incredibly droll had happened.

"What!"

"Weasley. Potter." Blaise enunciated patronisingly, "bludgeoning. Draco."

I jumped out of my seat and rushed down to the field. It was chaos. Crowds of green and red robes swirled around the centre of the pitch, jostling for a view, and I could just make out Madam Hooch's black umpire robes, standing out against them. With a feeling of intense foreboding, I loped my way over to the activity, looking for a familiar face.

"Estelle," Pucey waved me over, "did you see that goal I scored…"

"Not really, Pucey. What the hell is going on here?" my eyes darted around, trying to see past the throngs of people with little success.

He shot me an offended look, "oh, you know. Drake was just having a bit of fun, and these _lunatics_ attacked him." He bellowed the word 'lunatic' over his shoulder to where the crowds had parted to reveal Potter and one of the Weasleys standing, shamefaced and angry while Madam Hooch shouted at them. A little to their left, a figure in green and silver robes was curled up, backed by the entire Slytherin team who, though enthusiastic in their outrage, had not seen fit to help him up

After hearing Pucey's outburst, Potter looked up, meeting my gaze briefly. I daggered him with enough force to make him wince as I dropped to my knees by Draco's side, "Drake?" I asked, pushing some hair off of his face, "my god, you look like crap!" he frowned and I helped him to his feet.

"What is your _problem_, Malfoy?" one of the Gryffindor chasers shouted, "elitist shit! Grow a pair!" there were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the team and I turned to Draco, feeling suspicious.

"What did you do?" I asked him with a sideways glance.

His brow crinkled and he rubbed at his blackening eye, "what did _I_ do?" he demanded, "these _brutes_ jumped on me! Two! Two against one, how is that fair?"

"What did you say to them?" I asked quietly, and he spun around to face me, turning furiously red.

"Why do you assume that this is _my_ fault?" he shouted, "just look at my face! Look! They're all just feral little mudbloods."

"Don't say things like that!" I snapped at him, "that attitude is _beneath_ you, Drake."

His gaze softened a little, and he looked down, ashamed. But only for a second, because at that moment, one of the Gryffindors bellowed, "see? Even your own blood thinks you're a little rat!"

And Draco's face flushed. With a snarl, he yanked his arm free of mine and stormed away to the jeers of the quidditch team.

Already I felt awful. I hadn't needed to tell Draco off there- in front of everybody. And yet, that is what I had done. I was always so impulsive, so unable to restrain myself. With a sigh, I looked back to Potter, who stood angrily in front of Hooch, arms crossed, as she led him back up the castle.

"Elle," a voice said quietly from beside me. I looked up to see that Blaise had followed me down onto the field.

I glared at him, "want something?"

He grinned at me. "Your eternal love and devotion." He intoned dramatically, hand on heart, "Everybody else is going to dinner now. I'm hungry."

I nodded, "where's Jess?"

His shrug communicated the depth of his indifference, "I brought your magazine. You left it behind up there." He passed it to me and I grinned.

"You'll need more than this to win me over, Zabini." I warned him.

"Yes, well," he sniffed, "next time I'll bring you a present that you didn't already own."

"Sounds novel." I grinned, and side-by-side, we walked up to the castle.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! Haven't had too many, but it's definitely quality, not quantity :)  
>I'm especially pleased to see that some "Life and Times" readers are pleased with this fic so far. Thanks, guys!<p>

Oh, and I'm only following a loose plan here, with the story, which leaves lots of room for input and leeway. So if any of you have any favourite characters or events from the books that you'd like to see, please let me know and I'll work them in for you.


	6. Chapter 6

I could sense Draco, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle coming up the stairs a mile off.

Pansy's loud, shrill titters echoed excessively in the dungeons- always had- so it was fairly obvious when she approached. Crabbe and Goyle? Well, their sheer weight meant that their footsteps were loud, clumping, inelegant things- very easy to hear from a distance.

And Draco? Draco was the ringleader. If Pansy and the Trolls were coming, you could be sure that Draco was leading them. I sighed, lowering my quill as they entered the common room.

"… And did you _see_ the look on that oaf's face when Umbridge pretended he couldn't speak English?" Pansy was shrieking.

By her side, Draco gave a small smile. "well, _can_ he speak English?" They all laughed, and Draco's eyes fell on me. "Estelle!" He said jovially. "We've just had the _best _Care of Magical Creatures lesson!"

I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess- was it because Hagrid is such a wonderful teacher?"

He laughed. "No- _evaluations_. Umbride evaluated the ogre today."

I frowned, sucking on the tip of my quill. "Clearly he _is_ a bad Care of Magical Creatures teacher." I said thoughtfully. "Seeing as he hasn't even taught you what an actual ogre looks like." Pansy blinked, uncomprehendingly. Feeling charitable, I elaborated. "He'd be part giant, if anything."

Draco waved a hand, unconcerned. "Ogre, giant, dragon. Who cares? He'll be gone when we return from Christmas break." That thought made him even happier. "I cannot _wait_ til Christmas! Father said he might buy me a new broom…"

"I won't be returning from anywhere." I pointed out, scratching out a line on my essay. "I'll be here for Christmas."

Draco frowned, his easy smile faltering. "What- Pardon, what do you mean?"

With an annoyed sigh, I lowered my quill. "I _mean_ that I'm not going back to the manor for Christmas. Now _please_ let me write this essay."

Evidently sensing a conflict, Crabbe and Goyle retreated up into the boys dorms. Also sensing a conflict, Pansy settled in to watch the fight.

"What, you'd prefer to stay at school for the next few weeks?" Draco asked with the slight sneer that always appeared when he was feeling rejected, "you'd prefer to spend your time with Macgonnagal and loony old Dumbledore than to come and stay with me?"

"Don't be such a girl." I snapped, but felt immediately guilty when I saw the sneer on Draco's face falter, then return full force. "I just want to concentrate on my studies, a little. Is that okay with you?"

"You? You _want_ to study?" He laughed. From his other side, Pansy rolled her eyes and poked her tongue out at me. _Very_ mature. "You hate studying."

I frowned, pushing my essay away from me and raking a hand nonchalantly through my hair- it was a mess of snarls and knots. "I don't _hate_ anything."

"Except Potter." Draco said.

"I don't hate Potter, either." I muttered.

"Of course you do." He returned dismissively. "Everybody does."

I resisted the urge to point out that hordes of people didn't hate Potter at all, and actually rather liked him. In Draco's eyes, _Slytherin_ was everybody. And I really didn't want to get into that argument now.

Instead, I met his gaze sternly and said, as firmly as I could, "I'm staying _here_, Draco. That's it."

Rather than shout at me, Draco sunk down into the plush armchair beside mine and sighed tiredly. "I just don't understand _why_, Estelle?" he moaned. "Why wouldn't you come home?"

Pansy looked similarly at a loss. Willingly miss out on spending time with the Malfoys? Who would be so mental?

Well, me for one.

I could have smiled and made excuses. I could have agreed to go back to the manor. Instead, as so often happened when I was tired, my maliciousness reared its ugly head, and my impulsiveness allowed me to say: "Well, Drake. It's hardly _my _home, is it?"

His entire demeanour changed so suddenly that it was almost imperceptible. But I could tell- his shoulders were held more stiffly, his jaw clenched, his eyes shuttered and unreadable.

Feeling instantly guilty, but unwilling to recant, I tried to make amends. "You could stay with me!" I suggested, taking his hand. "We'd have free rein of the school- it'd be fantastic."

Draco just sneered. "No. I actually _have_ family to spend Christmas with." He said cruelly. His hand felt like a dead fish in my hand- clammy, limp and completely unresponsive. I sat back in my chair, dropping his hand.

"Well, Drake, I've already put my name on the list to stay here." I told him stubbornly. "I'm sorry if you don't like that, but really it isn't any of your concern."

"What isn't?" I turned to see Jess standing behind me, Carmeline in tow. Both looked confused.

Turning away from Draco, I smiled broadly at them. "I'm staying at Hogwarts for the holidays."

Their reactions were fairly expected. Carmeline gave an adorable, sickly sweet smile and cooed. "That sounds lovely- it'll be so peaceful!"

Jess, being less 'charming', wrinkled her nose in distaste and said. "You're staying _here_? What, with all the orphans and nerds who have nowhere to go on Christmas?"

Carmeline tittered a little. "Oh, lets not discuss that right now. I think we ought to go to the library- we have that transfiguration essay due tomorrow."

I picked up my length of parchment, crumpling it in my hand and waving it about. "I am _trying_." I told them desperately. "_Mon dieu _am I trying! But between the topic being so boring and you lot, I am getting nothing done."

"So… library!" Carmeline grinned at me. "It would be the perfect solution!"

As it turned out, it was _not_ the perfect solution.

Carmeline had reasoned that, in the library, there could be few distractions, leaving us plenty of time to work.

Jess had supported this wholly. "Boys who are hot." She'd sighed. "Do _not_ stay in the library. They are outside, playing quidditch and being _men_. There will only be nerds in the library."

Of course, we'd forgotten about the Ravenclaws.

Naturally, almost the whole house was studying like mad in the library- including a table of remarkably attractive 5th year boys, who offered to help with our essays.

Not that they helped too much. Not with the essays, anyway.

And _that_ was why Macgonnagal was so furious in transfiguration the next day.

"How is it?" she demanded, striding back and forth across the front of the classroom. "That I give you two _weeks_ to complete a simple paper- two whole weeks- and you are _still_ incapable of producing the required amount of parchment?"

Around me, students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I stifled a yawn.

"What." Macgonnagal snapped. "was the essay length I specified?" Naturally, nobody volunteered the information. "Miss Burke?"

"Three feet." Carmeline supplied with a little smile.

"Precisely." Macgonnagal agreed with an impressively dramatic flare of her nostrils. "Three feet. 36 inches. Now, there are 14 days in two weeks. I'm no arithmancy professor, but I believe that to complete this essay to the required length, you would only have had to write…" She considered. "Less than three inches each night." She looked around at us all. "Is that so excessive? So arduous?"

I doodled absently on my textbook, waiting for the lecture to end.

"Miss Dahlquist?" I looked up to see Macgonnagal's beady eyes focussed on me. "I assume you are taking notes? Perhaps recording my contempt for you all so that you may return to it the next time you consider idling away your study time."

I sighed. I was in a foul mood. Draco wasn't talking to me- at breakfast he'd breezed right by me. Clearly, my comment about the Manor not being my home had really hurt him. But no matter how he felt, whenever I closed my eyes and thought of home, it was that little apartment on the outskirts of Paris that I saw. The apartment with the tiny kitchen and the fold-out ironing board. The dingy little place my mother had chosen specifically for the beautiful windowseat overlooking the park. I saw that, not the cold elegance of the manor.

Perhaps _that_ was why, for the first time in Macgonnagal's lesson, I answered back. "I rarely _consider_ idling away my study time, Professor." I told her, meeting her gaze with perhaps a tad too much hostility. "The decision to idle is fairly automatic these days."

Naturally, Macgonnagal looked taken aback. I was so rarely rude. Yes, I could be a little insolent, but only in _very_ small doses, and never in front of her class. For the most part, I was a good student and I kept to myself.

"Wow." Jess said from my side. "You _are_ in a terrible mood."

I think that, had that been the end of it, Macgonnagal would have deducted a few points from Slytherin and left it at that. Unfortunately, at that moment, we all heard a dreaded sound.

"_Hem hem._"

"Dear Lord." Macgonnagal snapped, looking even more annoyed. "And what, pray tell, are you doing in my class, Professor Umbridge."

There she was, standing by the door, head cocked to one side, a sickly sweet smile on her face. Ignoring Macgonnagal's question, she stepped over the threshold, her eyes fixed ominously on me. "Is that how your students generally address you?" she asked Macgonnagal, her smile not faltering even a little.

"Not unless they're suicidal." Marcus Cleevebridge whispered from behind me. I couldn't help but smile.

"Not if I can help it." Macgonnagal said drily. "I _would_ usually deduct points from her house for impertinence, but _you_ are here now- no doubt you feel the need to interfere?"

Umbridge fixed her eyes on me again. Squaring my shoulders, I met her gaze defiantly. "Miss Dahlquist." She said. "Is a known trouble maker. I have had problems with her insolence and disregard for school rules myself. I am also aware that Professor Snape has had to deal harshly with her in the past. Clearly, though." She said cruelly. "Not harshly enough."

Macgonnagal looked furious. "Miss Dahlquist." She said through gritted teeth. "Is an exemplary student, who has never given me undue cause for concern."

I thought that _might_ perhaps be an exaggeration, but then, who looks a gift horse in the mouth?

Umbridge, however, did not seem impressed by Macgonnagal's little speech. "Well." She said softly. "Perhaps you _ought_ to be more concerned. These little rebellions, if left unpunished, only grow over time." She turned then to me. "I think Miss Dahlquist might benefit from a detention with me. Tomorrow night, perhaps? Yes? Well then."

And with that, she waddled from the room, leaving us all gaping in her wake.

…..

The next day, Draco still wasn't talking to me, so even though he would usually have waited for me to finish detention and walked back to the dungeons with me, the next night I was alone.

I left at around 8:30, rubbing the back of my right hand, which was red and sore from Umbridge's own personal method of torture. That she'd been able to cause me pain with such tranquillity and pleasure had upset me greatly, and as I strode back to the common room, I could feel my hands shaking in rage.

I would make her pay.

It was around that time that I heard a shout echo down the hallway.

"Oh- Estelle!"

"It's _Dahlquist_." I said automatically, turning around to see Harry Potter standing behind me, waving awkwardly. "_Mon Dieu_- now what?"

He jogged towards me, somewhat sheepishly, and I put my hands up in surrender. "I have nothing for you to knock out of my hands." I told him. "So you can just keep going til you find somebody else to annoy."

Frowning, he caught up with me. "That's not funny. Did you get the photo?"

I sighed sharply. "Yes, I did." I admitted. "_Merci_- I am grateful."

We lapsed into a tense silence, neither of us sure what was meant to happen. Perhaps it would have been a companionable silence, were I not in such a foul mood. As it was, we walked along the hall faster than was normal, the echoes of our footsteps the only sound.

As you'd expect, Harry was the one to break the silence.

"I saw you." He said casually, jamming his hands in his pockets, "at the Quidditch."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes without breaking pace, "yeah. Just after you almost murdered poor Draco, wasn't it?"

Harry's mouth thinned into a hard line, "he was- crossing a line."

There was little point in moving any further. I stopped walking and turned to face him. He blinked twice, as though shocked, and leant against the nearby wall. "Drake _always_ crosses lines." I said, folding my arms defensively, "_always_. I expect him to do that sort of thing- didn't think you'd be the sort to sink to that level, too."

He flushed, and I wondered whether he was embarrassed about the whole thing, "Yeah, well." He said, "I got punished for that, didn't I?"

I pushed a hand through my hair and pulled a fag out of my pocket, lighting it with the tip of my wand. "I don't know. Did you?"

His shock was close to comical, "yes. Yes, I- Haven't you heard?" I shot him a look of contempt, and he shrugged. "Sorry, it's just- well, the whole school knows, so… I got banned from quidditch. Forever."

I took a careful drag of my cigarette, "forever? So you can't play outside of school?"

"Well, I can, but.."

"You can't go professional if you wanted to?"

My nonchalance was starting to get to Potter, "well, I could- but who would take me without training? Without being on the school team so they could see me?"

"If you work hard, I'm sure somebody will…." I said thoughtfully, "early morning training, keeping fit…"

"I'm not going to work that hard at _quidditch_." Potter snapped. "That's not really what I'm planning to do with my life."

"So _what's_ the problem?" I asked, now thoroughly bored.

"It just _sucks_, alright?" He cried, and, taken aback, I glanced over at him. "It sucks. I _like_ quidditch, and Umbridge has gone and taken it away from me just because she can."

"And because you bludgeoned another student in the middle of the pitch." I supplied casually, and he fumed. "Oh, Potter. Don't worry. You can find something else to care about- something else to put energy into." I tapped the ash off of the end of my cigarette and took another drag.

"Bloody hell, Estelle." Potter gave a bitter laugh, "it doesn't work like that. Quidditch was the one part of my life that wasn't all… drama. It was fun." I rolled my eyes, and he began to get angry, "Look, just because _you_ don't care about anything, doesn't mean that everybody else is the same."

I blinked slowly, then took _another_ drag. My cigarette was pretty much gone.

"Oh- that was harsh, look, I…"

"Don't worry." I told Potter curtly, "it was true, after all. I _don't_ care about anything."

There was a moment of blessed silence, but of course I couldn't count on Potter to keep that up for long; "I just figured you'd care more about quidditch." He said honestly, "like your mum."

I froze. What? "What are you on about, Potter?" I asked, "how would you know what my mum cared about- or didn't care about?"

He looked like a rabit caught in the headlights, "oh, I just… I knew she was on the quidditch team."

"_Nobody_ knows she was on the quidditch team." I told him with a frown, "_nobody_. She's down in the books as 'Lee Dahlquist'- and the Slytherins apparently decided that that was a boy's name. They always talk about how Slytherin has never had a female player."

Harry flushed again, "oh, well. You know, I… sort of looked up the Slytherin team in the archives.

I raised an eyebrow. "You _what_?"

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I looked up.. uh.. the-uh- the archives. I looked them up."

I discarded what was left of my cigarette, grinding it into the floor with my heel. Filch would probably hunt me down and kill me later. "Alright. _Why_ would you do that?"

"It doesn't matter." He said dismissively, looking nervous. "Have you ever actually _tried_ to play quidditch?"

The conversation was clearly taking a turn for the bizarre. "Potter." I said slowly. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I could teach you how to fly." He offered nonchalantly. "You know- if you're around these holidays? It looks like I'll be staying here, so…"

I just hated to burst his bubble… Well, no, I didn't really. "Um, Potter? 'Banned from quidditch' ring a bell?"

He looked so downcast that I almost felt guilty. Then I remembered that I didn't really like him very much and I felt better.

"We could… I don't know. Try anyway." He suggested hopefully. "I think you'd be a great chaser- like your mum. Or maybe a seeker. There's seeker blood in your family…."

I wondered absently if he meant to be creepy. If not, his whole personality was incredibly unfortunate. I was reaching for my wand when he looked up and met my eyes, and I let out a little sigh at the sight of him. He really had lovely eyes.

And they said it all- he wasn't creepy. He was well-intentioned in the most awkward way possible.

And so, I was gentle. "I don't want to play quidditch, Potter." I told him. "I feel no need to."

He looked disapproving. "Estelle!" he chastised. "But it would give you a way to be closer to your mum…"

"That's the silliest thing I've ever heard." I said dismissively. "Why on earth would that make me closer to _Maman_?" And then. "Why would you care?"

Ignoring my question, Potter soldiered on. "Come on! Wouldn't you like to be good at something like quidditch? Wouldn't you like to show those Slytherins that girls _can_ play?" I gave a disinterested shrug in response. He made a face and scratched the back of his head, "don't you ever, I don't know, get _tired_ of not fighting for things?" he asked, and I shrugged.

"I'm Slytherin." I said. "And quite frankly, I don't care."

…

Draco spoke to me again for the first time three days later.

And he said nothing that I liked.

"What?" I asked, annoyed, as Draco moved to leave the empty classroom where he'd found me, smoking a cigarette and scoffing the world's biggest muffin. "You- what is this about?"

Draco examined the doorknob, as though getting out of the room was much more complicated than just turning the thing.

"I crossed your name off of the list." He said clearly, still not meeting my eyes.

""Yes, I heard you." I snapped, "and now I want to know _why_ you did that!" He shrugged, still looking at the doorknob. My small supply of patience began to wear thin, "just TURN the damn thing, Draco." I snapped.

He glared at me, "fine! Calm down."

"No." I said simply, "I told you I was staying here for Christmas. You can't just… decide otherwise on my behalf!"

"I can and I will." He snarled, "you're my cousin. You can't stay here for Christmas! It looks bad…"

"For whom?" I hissed, "why would it look bad for anyone!"

There was a desperate look on his face. "It just- it would look like you didn't want to be around _us_- your family."

I frowned. "I don't even live at the manor, Draco." I pointed out. "Not normally. This whole arrangement is just temporary…."

"That doesn't mean _anything_." He half yelped, his eyes wild and a little scared. "Appearances are everything. That's why you can't stay here."

"I can stay wherever I want!" I shouted at him tossing my hair. "You don't _own_ me!"

Draco's mouth thinned to the point where it seemed like he had no lips. Anxiously, he smoothed his hair down again. "I think you'll find." He said softly. "That we _do_ own you- at least until you're seventeen. And that's almost three whole years away." There was very little I could say to that. Defeated, I looked angrily away from him. Taking this as capitulation, Draco beamed. "Good. So we'll be enjoying each other's company at Christmas. Very, very good."

And with that, he turned the door handle, waving jovially at me and exiting the room in a flash.

"Well." I said to nobody in particular." It looks like it'll be a Malfoy Christmas this year."

Xxxxxxxxx

A/N: So there's another chapter done. I'll try and get the Malfoy Christmas finished by tomorrow, as a lovely Christmas present to you all.

Fair warning, I have shifted the timing of this year around a little, but I provide an explanation for it within the story. Hopefully that will satisfy you.

Again, a plea for reviews. And again, if you want to see any characters, please let me know and I'll work them in.

Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

Lucius wasn't there to meet us when we got off the Hogwarts Express. Instead, Narcissa was waiting on the platform, a slender, fragile looking thing in the smog from the train.

She greeted Draco with a perfunctory peck on the cheek, and then, when she thought nobody was looking, she ran a hand over his hair. It was just a little gesture, but it was filled with affection and tenderness.

I felt a tug in my heart at the sight of it.

She looked up then and met my eyes. "Estelle." She said, tone clipped, and gave me a little nod.

"Hello, Aunt Narcissa." I forced a smile to my face. "Where's Lucius?"

Her mouth turned down a little more at the mention of her husband. "Elsewhere." She answered testily. "He is a busy man- certainly too busy to spend his time waiting at train stations."

I tossed my hair. "As though _anything _could be more important that Draco and I." I drawled lazily.

As often happened when I was insolent or cheeky around Narcissa, she paled a little, her eyes fixed on my face but seeming to see something beyond it. "Don't _do_ that." She said snappishly, after a long moment's silence. "You know I hate it when you do that."

How vague. This was why I preferred Lucius to be present. He may not have been the sweetest of men, but he didn't treat me like a pariah.

"We'd best be off." Narcissa said now, sounding terse. Draco and I exchanged a concerned look- she was never exactly warm, but Narcissa was positively glacial today. And beyond that, she looked exhausted. There were bags under her eyes, and she was glancing nervously all around us.

"Are you expecting somebody?" I asked her politely, and her head jerked around to look at me.

"Who would I be expecting?" She asked icily, one hand reaching out to rest protectively on Draco's shoulder. On second glance, I wondered if perhaps she wasn't being protective so much as reassuring herself that he was there.

"Draco! Drake!"

"Dear lord." I groaned as Pansy skipped over to our side.

"You weren't going to leave without saying 'goodbye' and 'merry Christmas', were you?" she asked, pouting sulkily and giving him a flirty shove. "Oh, Mrs Malfoy- you look so lovely today! I'm always saying to Drakey- 'your mother has the best taste in clothes'. Aren't I, Drake?"

Clearly as disgusted as I was, Narcissa looked away from Pansy and her son, inadvertently meeting my eyes. She sighed resignedly, as though the realisation that she had only _me_ to talk to for two minutes was something rather trying.

"So." She said, looking disgruntled. "I expect you have boys to say goodbye to."

The corner of my mouth quirked up at her use of the plural- as though I were so intolerably sluttish that I couldn't possibly have less than two boys to fondly farewell.

"Hardly, Aunt Narcissa." I said, and she looked almost placated. Perhaps that was why I felt the need to add on. "I've told all six of them that it is _their_ job to say goodbye to _me_."

"Don't listen to her, Mrs Malfoy." A voice said at my shoulder, and I sighed in annoyance as Blaise stepped up beside me. "Estelle behaves very properly at school."

I batted my eyelashes at him. "How sweet of you to exaggerate for me!"

Blaise looked less than impressed. "I came to farewell you… and Draco." He said, sounding rather bored actually.

With a mischievous smirk, I turned back to Narcissa. "I _told_ you I trained them to farewell _me_." With an irritated sigh, Blaise turned me to face him, and I gave him an apologetic smile. "Are you waiting for your mum, then?"

He nodded. "She's always quite late." He said, sounding supremely unconcerned. I wasn't really listening. Instead, I was glancing around the platform, looking absently for the usual swarm of redheads and freaks which accompanied Potter everywhere.

It wasn't that I liked him, or wanted to talk to him. Rather I was wondering if he'd actually ended up staying at the school for Christmas, like he'd told me. It hardly seemed likely- surely at least one member of his extensive fanclub would have offered him a place. And I rather hoped that was the case. I think I felt slightly guilty, considering that I'd told him I'd be in Hogwarts for Christmas. Not that I'd ever have spoken to him, or taken him up on his bizarre offer of quidditch lessons.

"He isn't here." I heard Blaise say, and turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "Potter." He clarified, eyes shuttered and unreadable. "He's not around. He and the Weasley herd disappeared a few days before term officially ended."

I rolled my eyes. "Like I would _care_." I drawled.

Blaise looked away briefly, as though mildly fascinated by the brick wall behind me. "Don't lie to me, Estelle." He said, sounding bored. "I _did_ see you talking to him after your detention the other night."

Why was it that, no matter what I did, people thought I was fraternizing with Potter? "He approached _me_, Zabini." I snapped. "And I took the opportunity to tell him off for beating Draco up."

Blaise hardly cared enough to pursue the matter. "Just don't let Draco see you." He advised me. "It'd be unfortunate if he killed or maimed you in anger… you're amusing on occasion."

I grinned. "Well, aren't you sappy?"

"Are you two done?" Draco asked impatiently from my side. "I'm leaving now."

Smiling, I shrugged. "Cool. I'll go and stay with Zabini and his mum for the holidays."

"And husband number Six." Blaise added thoughtfully. "That is, unless you want to check if you can stay with Potter at the Weasley hovel?"

I had to try very hard to stop myself from punching him.

…

Lucius wasn't there to greet us at the gate, or in the foyer when we got inside the manor. Draco shot a questioning look at his mother, but she turned away from him, gliding off up the stairs.

"Right." Draco said firmly. "Well, isn't this great?"

His voice echoed loudly in the cold and austere foyer.

I was fairly sure he wasn't being sarcastic.

With a supreme effort, I smiled. "Wonderful." I enthused. "So… do you think they set up the tree this year?"

"Not really." Draco said honestly. "They're so used to Dobby doing it that they don't really bother…"

I frowned at that. "Hasn't he been gone three years?"

"Only two." Draco said defensively, smoothing back his hair again. "It is perfectly reasonable that Mother and Father still forget."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course." I agreed considerately. "Doesn't mean that, for once, it wouldn't be nice to have a Christmas tree brightening up the foyer." Draco didn't say anything, so I continued. "I'd put it… there. Just between the twin staircases- back centre of the foyer." I stretched my hands out in front of me, shaping the Christmas tree in the air. "Six foot tall, at _least_. Maybe taller. Tall enough that you'd be able to touch its star from the second floor."

Draco grinned. "Maybe some tinsel on the banisters." He suggested with a little laugh. "And perhaps some floating candles…?"

He really _did_ love Hogwarts, for all that he complained about it.

I shook a finger at him. "Floating _stars_, and snowflakes falling from the rafters, only they'd be an illusion, so they'd never hit the floor- just swirl around the place."

Draco laughed- "carollers! Little songbirds which whistle 'silent night'." He cried excitedly, and a little wisp of his hair fell out of place.

I smiled at him. "Now, now. Don't be tacky. Carollers are so unbearably _common_." I sneered, with a passable imitation of Mrs Parkinson, who usually came to call at least once in the holidays. And then, I paused. "The birds could work." I mused, and Draco grinned at me. "But _only _if they sung _good_ music."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No. Not more of your muggle trash, Estelle." I laughed at him, messing his hair up a little bit. He grinned, but didn't move to smooth it down. "See?" he said happily. "I knew that you'd have a good time here."

My smile faltered a little. Draco was so easily caught up in the moment. I often had that problem myself, but it would take more than a conversation about would-be decorations to make me forget that we were standing in the world's most forbidding house, with nobody smiling and no friends.

Sensing a shift in the mood, Draco cleared his throat awkwardly, and reached up a nervous hand to fix his hair. "Are you hungry, Estelle?" he asked.

I couldn't help but smile a little. "Why? Are you going to make me a sandwich?"

"Kreacher could make a sandwich for the young mistress."

Draco gave a little yelp of shock, jumping around to reveal a tiny little house elf, staring hopefully up at me. He was an ancient old thing, with skin so wrinkled and loose that it fell in huge folds around his face.

"Oh." I said, shooting Draco a confused look. "_Bonjour_? Is your name Kreacher?" The house elf continued to peer at me, as though looking for something. I smiled at him. "Are you the new house-elf?" I glanced back at Draco for confirmation.

He looked nonplussed.

Kreacher, however, looked affronted. "Kreacher is no _new_ house-elf." He muttered, twisting the dirty pillowcase he wore in his long, spindly fingers. "No young elf with no experience, no respect." He gave me a bloodshot glare. "Kreacher is an _old_ house-elf. Kreacher serves House Black, and Kreacher can make you a _sandwich_."

And with that, he waddled off to the kitchen, alternating between muttering angrily and shooting me strange glances, laden with significance.

I turned to Draco in confusion. "House _Black_?" I asked, smiling. "Do you think he's got the wrong address?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "No, Estelle." He said, not meeting my gaze. "No, Mother was a Black, before her marriage."

I quirked one of my eyebrows up in amusement. "but she's a Malfoy now, Drake." I pointed out. "Surely there are other Blacks he should be with."

After a moment's silence, Draco made to answer, but at that moment, Narcissa reappeared at the top of the stairs.

"I'll be sending dinner up to your rooms." She said, and though she was speaking very quietly, her voice carried down the stairs. "It'd be best if you stayed up there."

Draco smiled up her. "Til Christmas, that is?" he said.

Narcissa's smile was tired and sad. "Perhaps _not_." She said, and Draco's face fell. "When your father gets back, we'll see. But he is _quite_ busy at present- he'll want you out of the way, I think."

Nodding, Draco blushed furiously, smoothing back his hair with both hands. "Alright." He said. "Come on, Estelle. Lets go upstairs."

He looked almost embarrassed to be asking, but I grinned at him. "Of course." I said, trying to look as enthusiastic as possible. "I want to redecorate your whole room."

Draco gave me a grateful smile. "What, again? How many times is that?"

I shrugged. "Six, perhaps." I said, shooting him my most charming grin. "How do you feel about Red and gold?"

He wrinkled his nose. "That's not funny, Estelle." He told me. "Not even a little bit funny."

We clumped up the stairs together, and I grinned at him again. _Maman_ always said that my smile could light up a room- I just needed it to light up Draco. "Well, _I_ think you'd look lovely in red. It'd really make your eyes stand out."

Laughing, Draco walked ahead of me. "Seriously, Estelle. If you make my room up in Gryffindor colours I will _not_ be happy."

As we passed Narcissa, she smiled fondly at Draco, before looking at me. I was still wearing my brightest smile, though it faltered as she met my eyes.

"When you do that." She said softly. "You look just like…."

I waited for her to finish, but after a moment she just squared her shoulders and nodded at me. "Dinner will be at 6 sharp. Do try not to come downstairs too much." And then she turned around and left.

As we watched her go, Draco sighed. "Sorry, Estelle." He said gruffly, and I turned to him, smiling in confusion.

"What for?"

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Oh, you know." He said. "I suppose Christmas with loony old Dumbledore and all the Hogwarts nerds _would_ have been more fun."

I shrugged. "It's as fun as you make it." I told him, all the while wanting to agree with him, and complain, and point out that I had been right. "Lets go mess up your room."

A few hours later, when I went back to my own room, dirty and tired, I noticed that somebody had left a sandwich on my bed a while before. The bread was starting to get stale around the edges, and the lettuce was limp, but the crusts had been cut off and the entire thing was perfectly made. Shaking my head, I moved it to the side and lay down,

"Weird house-elf." I said in French, then fell asleep.

…..

Christmas was predictably lacklustre. Narcissa was a ghost around the house, and we hadn't seen Lucius even once since our arrival.

Draco and I spent our time reading or moving furniture around. For a while, I tried to teach Draco how to speak French, but that was an unmitigated disaster. I wrote letters to Jess and Carmeline. I made a frame for the picture of my mother and her friends. And the whole while, Draco followed me around uncertainly, playing a role somewhere between host and brother.

On Christmas morning, though, it was a little different.

I woke up to the faint sound of twittering birds, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that somebody had enchanted my room so that hundreds of tiny snowflakes seemed to be falling around me- but it was just an illusion.

Laughing with delight, I ran over to Draco's room.

"Drake!" I called, jumping onto his bed and shaking him awake. "Wake _up_- lazy!" I snapped in French. Bleary eyed, he began to sit up, automatically smoothing down his hair. I grinned at him, then threw my arms around him. "Thank you!" I called. "They're amazing!"

"Estelle!" he sounded strangled. "Estelle- clothes!"

Surprised, I looked down at myself. I was wearing a t-shirt and my underwear. Shrugging, I smiled at him. "Please." I said. "You're like my brother."

But he still looked uncomfortable, so I reached out and picked up his robe, pulling it around myself. Looking placated, he smiled at me. "Now- thank you for what?"

Laughing, I pointed at the ceiling. "The snowflakes! Like we said."

They spiralled down from the centre of his ceiling, tracing pretty patterns in the air, but disappearing into nothingness before they landed on anything.

Draco took them in, wide-eyed. "Estelle." He said slowly. "That wasn't me."

Confused, I reconsidered. "Well, you don't think….. Aunt Narcissa…?"

In a second, we were both running out to the landing.

"Merlin.." Draco breathed- what is _that_?" I looked at where he was pointing to see the tip of a Christmas tree poking up over the railing.

"Is that even possible?" I laughed, and then sprinted down the steps, Draco close behind me.

In the back centre of the foyer, pushed up against the middle of the two staircases, was the largest Christmas tree I'd ever seen. Decorated all in silver and white and topped with a silver star, it was beautiful, if a little bedraggled. The tree itself was missing needles, and the tinsel was faded. But somebody had enchanted it to look like little stars were glowing within its branches.

It made me think of my mother, dancing around our tiny tree, trailing fairy lights and laughing like an idiot.

Slowly I smiled.

"Well, it's all in Slytherin colours." Draco pointed out, then laughed uproariously. "Amazing!"

I nudged him, pointing out the candles which were floating all around the high ceiling.. He laughed again, "but where are the birds whistling your horrid muggle music?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, because your parents would really love that."

Draco made to answer, but was distracted by something at the base of the tree. "Presents! Oh, look Estelle!" And then he slid over to them, yanking the largest one he could find out and tearing off the wrapping. "Broom broom broom." He chanted to himself. "Come on, Father- broom broom- let it be a new broom!" He whooped with joy as he pulled it out. "Yes! Perfect! Try and beat me _now_, Potter."

I rolled my eyes and sank gracefully to my knees beside him. "You have such a one-track mind, Drake." I said, pulling my presents towards me.

I had less than Draco, of course. Carmeline had sent me some perfume, and Jess a set of books on wizarding traditions, education and social structure in different cultures. And also, in a valiant nod towards my apparently perverse nature, she'd send me a Billy Joel record, perhaps unaware that those were considered vintage collectors items.

To my surprise, there was a Christmas card from Blaise, as well as a packet of sour worms, enchanted to actually wriggle and move around. After just a moment of watching them, I decided I wouldn't eat them- instead, they could be my pets.

Even Pansy had sent me a card of sorts... or at least, a pamphlet for a beauty parlour and a book called 'Acceptable behaviour for Young Pureblood Ladies'.

"Stop with those." Draco snapped at me as I tore the wrapping off yet another inane gift from my friends. "Open Mother and Father's. I want to see if your presents are better than mine."

I grinned. "Why? Worried that they love me more?" I taunted. But when I ripped off the wrapping, my present was three new pairs of elegant robes.

"That'll be Mother." Draco said wisely. "She despises your clothes."

Gee. Thanks.

From Lucius was a parcel shaped similarly to Draco's. Curious, I unwrapped it to find…

"Nimbus 2000?" Draco was leaning over my shoulder, looking speculative. "Not bad for a first broom. Though why he got it for you, I'm not sure."

I shook my head. "Me either." And as I pushed it to one side, perplexed, I shot Draco a cheeky look. "Hey- where's my present from you?"

He waved a nonchalant hand. "Oh- under there somewhere."

I pulled it out soon after. Smiling, it took it in. "Nice wrapping." I said, and Draco nodded haughtily.

"Green and silver, of _course_." He told me, but his smile was bright and happy.

I ripped it off in a frenzy, to find….

"Oh. Drake…."

He'd gotten me a sketch pad and pencils. I looked up at him in confusion, and found that he was watching me almost nervously.

"You'd better like that." He told me, sounding irritated. "I had to go into _muggle_ London to get them- it was awful. But I'd noticed you doodling all over your textbooks, and…." I launched myself at him, hugging him tightly. He continued, sounding slightly strangled. ".. rather than let you vandalise perfectly good school supplies, I thought I might…"

"They're wonderful, Draco." I told him, my accent atrociously thick.

"Oh. Well, good." He said, shifting uncomfortably in my hug. "Because I had to deal with the stupidest little muggle to get them. She said that these are the best if you like drawing… and that if you like painting, she has oils and watercolours." He sniffed. "It all sounds rather foul, and that's _nothing_ compared to how it smells. But that's what she said."

I grinned at him. "This is so wonderful." I said. And then, because he'd been so thoughtful, I opened up a little. "_Maman's_ brother used to draw. When she saw that I liked it, when I was little, she told me about it. She loved it when I drew."

"Your uncle?" Draco asked, and I nodded.

"He died when she was young."

Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable with having told him _anything_ about my past, I shot him my best grin and jumped to my feet. "Alright then." I said mischievously. "How about you teach me how to fly?"

…..

Draco spent the afternoon trying to teach me how to play quidditch. But while my reflexes weren't too bad, and my balance was good, I had serious issues reconciling the two.

We were laughing and covered in bruises by the time Narcissa came outside, looking even paler and more worried.

It was the first time we'd seen her all day.

"Inside." She called, voice soft and icy. "You must both go to your rooms now."

"Merry Christmas, Mother!" Draco zoomed around her. "Thankyou for the broom- and the tree."

With great effort, I reined my broom in to a halt before her. "Yes, Aunt Narcissa- the tree is lovely. And the snowflakes."

She sniffed, patting at her hair in a way that reminded me of Draco. "I had nothing to do with that." She said sharply. "That was all Kreacher, I suspect. It looks like his work- Aunt Walburga's house was always excessively decorated at Christmas, too." She looked thoughtful. "I should tell him not to take liberties- he should wait to be _ordered_."

Draco looked oddly crestfallen at that admission. "Oh." He said softly. "I thought…." But then, he seemed to snap out of his mood. He shot her a small, tight smile. "Well, I suppose it _is_ a little childish." He said, and his mother nodded.

"Indeed. But you've had your fun now- inside."

I frowned. "Could we not eat out here?" I suggested, and Draco nodded, looking almost eager. "I mean- _Maman_ and I used to eat Christmas dinner down by the ice rink, and you pond _is_ frozen.. We could skate?"

"That sounds nice." Draco said, trying to look unconcerned. Catching the look on his mother's face, he faltered a little. "Of course, we'd never expect you to eat with us." He said. "You're so busy, after all. We'll just say Merry Christmas to father…"

"Your father has more important matters to attend to." Narcissa said coldly, but she looked worried. "And I would appreciate it, Draco, if you would not ignore my instructions."

Draco frowned. "I didn't, mother."

"I _told_ you to go to your room." She said quietly. "And yet, you are _here_."

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Draco slowly lowered his broom to the ground, stepping off of it and landing lightly on the ground. "Thank you for the broom, Mother." He said coldly. "Come on, Estelle. Mother and Father are too _busy_ for Christmas this year."

Narcissa closed her eyes, and I noticed again how drawn she looked. It was so obvious that she would like nothing more than to troop upstairs with Draco and I and share a Christmas dinner. But something was afoot, and whatever it was, it had her petrified with fear.

"Merry Christmas, Aunt Narcissa." I said softly, dismounting my broom with some difficulty, then running lightly after Draco.

But he didn't want to eat dinner with me. When I reached his room, the door was shut, and he didn't answer when I knocked.

Truth be told, I didn't mind too much.

I headed to my own room without feeling any emotion stronger than slight annoyance. Perhaps, Narcissa's coldness didn't affect me as much as Draco because I was used to it. Perhaps the years of cold Christmasses with my dull old guardian in France had prepared me for disappointment. Either way, I was almost relieved to be spending some time alone.

What annoyed _me_ was that I was trapped. I couldn't leave.

There was nothing I hated more than that. Perhaps, had they never said that I was confined to the second story of the Manor, I would've been content to stay around all Christmas. But the second they took away my choice, I felt antsy and stifled.

Collapsing on my bed, I reflected on the holidays so far. Draco had had a terrible time, but I felt irritated more than upset. I just wanted to be able to leave, to go somewhere, anywhere else!

While I lay there, annoyed, I could feel myself starting to get sleepy, despite myself. My very last thought was that this was the most _pathetic_ effort at a Christmas dinner that I'd ever seen.

And then I fell asleep.

….

I could hear the voices, even muted as they were, from my room, and it terrified me. But, scared and wary as I was, I couldn't help but head out to the landing, my bear feet padding lightly on the carpeted floor. The voices were louder out there, but I couldn't see where they were coming from. Cautiously, I leaned over the banister, my hair flopping over my shoulders.

"Don't go down there."

I jumped, shocked, only to hiss in annoyance. "Draco!" I whispered angrily. "_Mon Dieu_, you scared me!"

He didn't say anything to that. In the light, he looked like a ghost, so pale and thin. "Don't go down there." He repeated, and I rolled my eyes.

"Now you've said it, I _have_ to go down there, don't I?" I grinned at him. "I'm contrary like that." He frowned, and I smiled at him. "Don't worry- I'll be careful. I just want to have a look."

"Estelle!" he hissed, as I tiptoed down the stairs, "Estelle- don't!"

I ignored him. Slowly, I crept towards the main doors, inexplicably terrified. This was Draco's house- I'd known it for years, lived here for months, and yet here I was, tip-toeing around like a burglar.

I didn't know why I should be so scared- all I knew was that I didn't want whoever was in the hall to see me.

I was close enough now to see the flickering of the fire light, and make out the silhouettes of Lucius and Narcissa, facing somebody out of my line of sight. Someone gave a harsh bark of laughter, in a voice which sounded hoarse, as if from over use.

As if from too much screaming. Constant screaming. Years of screaming. I could almost make out a face….

"They don't know," somebody said slowly, "ministry officials only check the prison cells once a month- not over Christmas. We have a headstart- they won't figure out that we're gone for a few weeks."

"And by then- _everything_ will be arranged…." I shifted my weight, leaning forwards. What were they talking about….?

"What is this?" fingers dug into my shoulders, through the thin material of my shirt, breaking the skin. I whimpered lightly, and spun around, moving to punch my attacker in the face. He caught my fist easily, and pushed me up against the wall. I felt my elbow crack as it hit the cold stone. Where was my wand?

Frantically, I kicked out, feeling satisfaction as my foot met flesh. The man who'd grabbed me cursed loudly, pulling out his wand and pointing it in my face.

"Enough." He snarled.

Before that moment, I'd only gotten vague impressions of him- tall, broad shouldered, but emaciated. Still, he was strong, and terrifying. And he smelt awful- like stale sweat and dirt. Like animal.

Now I saw his face. He looked worn, ancient and withered, and yet somehow it was obvious that it was suffering, not time, which had ravaged his features. His hair was dark, and fell in tangles and snarls around his face. His eyes were sunken into his face, and bright blue- almost fevered. But the scariest thing was his expression- pure rage, almost insane.

"Get off of me!" I snapped at him, "_fils de pute! Salaud!'_

He laughed, crushing his arm against my throat, "you should wash out your mouth," he hissed in French.

I spat on his face, scratching at his hands. With a grimace, he lifted me off of the floor by my neck. Desperately, my feet stopped kicking him, and started scrabbling for purchase against the wall.

I could feel myself suffocating, and I could do nothing about it- there were black dots swimming in front of my eyes, "_va te faire enculer_!" I managed to squeeze out- insulting him with my very last breath.

He just smiled.

"Rodolphus!" I heard, and suddenly, a light shone on my face. The man hissed in surprise and released me. Completely. I crumpled to the floor, gagging. I thought I had been rescued- but through the haze of my vision, I saw my attacker standing unchallenged- it was my face, suddenly thrown into light, that had stopped him, not anybody else's actions.

"What is this, Lucius?" he demanded now, "what _is_ she? Why is she here? She looks exactly like-"

The black spots were starting to disappear- my vision was clearing, though my throat burned. But somehow my limp hands caught on something long and thin on the ground beside me- my wand. Quickly, I grasped it, sliding it behind me. Just as I did, somebody crouched down by my side, and cool fingers lifted my chin.

"Look what you've done." Somebody said- a woman, with a cool, commanding voice. It was she who was on her hands and knees next to me, "poor pet. Let's see that face of yours."

I pulled back from her, jumping to my feet and whipping my wand out.

I was surrounded by strangers. Closest to me were my attacker, now looking angry and unsure, and a tall woman with the longest, thickest hair I'd ever seen. If fell past her waist in knots and snarls, obscuring her face.

"Who are you?" I snapped, "and what are you doing in my house?"

The woman looked up quickly, meeting the gaze of my attacker, "do you hear that accent?" she asked quickly, "French. She must have gone to France."

"I know she's French," he snapped, "she just called me a whoreson bastard and told me to screw myself." I could tell he was getting angrier again, and I could feel my knees shake.

In my mind I could see my mother's face. She would have been brave- I could be, too. With effort, I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze squarely, "I'd say it again," I told him, "why are you in my house?"

"Your house?" somebody asked quietly.

Lucius.

I looked quickly up at him, standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at me. Lazily, he flicked his wand, disarming me, "Estelle, it is vulgar to _point_ your wand at company."

"It is vulgar to choke your hosts." I returned swiftly. The tall woman smiled tightly.

"Now, now," she said sweetly, reaching for me, "that was an accident, pet, if you just….." I spun around to face her, practically spitting with rage. Her eyes widened in shock, and suddenly, she pushed me against the wall.

"Bellatrix!" I heard Lucius shout, but she didn't let me go. Instead, she traced one hand around the line of my eye, her own face mere inches from mine.

"Lucius, _look_ at that colour," she whispered, and I realised that my uncle was by her side, "_look_! Where else do you see that colour? Where else? You didn't tell me! _Sissy_ didn't tell me!"

"We have hardly had time to chat," Lucius drawled, placing a hand on her arm and pulling her away from me, "Estelle- go to your room. And stay there."

I'm not one to obey, and I didn't want to. But I couldn't understand what was happening- not even a little, and I didn't really feel the need to know more.

Draco met me at the top of the stairs.

"I told you to stay up here." He said, but he looked scared. I could tell he'd seen everything.

"Who are those people," I asked, rubbing my throat. I looked back over my shoulder to see my attacker and the tall woman standing side by side, watching me, "why did they act like that."

Draco's mouth twitched, as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't, "that's your cousin," he said finally, nodding at my attacker, "on your mum's side. Your second cousin." He pressed his lips together, before intoning, "Rodolphus Lestrange."

I raised an eyebrow, "what a family reunion," I muttered, "I'm glad he didn't pay us a visit when _Maman_ was still alive."

Again, Draco's mouth twitched uncomfortably. He wasn't telling me something.

"Drake?" I prompted.

He shook his head forcefully, and I marvelled that not a single of his white blond hairs fell out of place, "I was just going to say that he wasn't really available to visit you and your mother. For the past few years."

I shrugged, "there's more than that, but we won't bother with it now." He looked grateful, "how about I teach you some more French?"

He smiled gratefully, and I followed him into his room, sitting cross legged on the bed while he paced in front of me.

I pulled one of his green pillows onto my lap and sat, looking out across the room, lost in thought. I didn't even realise that I'd spaced out until Draco shook my shoulder, looking slightly annoyed.

"Don't fall asleep in here again," he told me, and I chuckled.

"More comfortable than my room."

He sat down next to me without a word, grabbing the pillow from me. We sat together for a moment, and then, without warning, he turned to me.

"Stop thinking about them."

"Can't." I answered without much emotion, "that creepy one almost killed me, Drake. And Lucius didn't even blink."

"He stopped it, though." Draco pointed out, and with a light grin, I punched him in the shoulder.

I snorted. "A man tried to kill me, and my guardian told him not to. Wow. Love and devotion in action." I wondered how far I could push Draco. He was always a little fragile when it came to family. If I wasn't careful, I'd make him angry. "What were they doing here, anyway?" I asked casually.

He looked away from me, eyes dark and thoughtful. "They're… good friends of my parents." He turned back to me, and I could almost hear Lucius in his words. "They're all very powerful and loyal witches and wizards, and they deserve our respect."

I nodded. "Ok." I said slowly. "And they're _here_ because…?"

"Why does it matter?" He snapped at me. "They're here now, aren't they?" Seeing that I hadn't stopped looking at him, Draco hissed through his teeth. "They're just _guests_, Estelle. They're visiting."

Tapping my fingers against the bed frame, I considered. "So- this is a dinner party?" Draco rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the statement, but nodded. "Alright. So why was Aunt Narcissa so scared? And are all your parents' friends so _dirty_ and vicious?"

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I don't know a lot." He admitted. Father only explained it in the barest possible terms. They're staying here, that's all you need to know."

Unconvinced, I nodded slowly. "So, it's a slumber party, then?" He nodded, trying not to laugh. "_Magnifique_." I exclaimed. "I adore slumber parties. Shall I invite Jess and Carmeline over, then?"

"Don't be stupid." Draco snapped.

"Alright. I'll just describe it in a letter, I think." I mused. "Perhaps talk about them. What was that man's name? Rodolphus Lestrange? Jess will want to know I've found a new cousin…."

"You can't _tell_ anyone, Estelle!" Draco yelped, and suddenly I saw red.

Jumping around to face him, I shouted. "They would have _killed_ me, Drake! I should tell the aurors!"

Draco shot me a terrified look, and then his expression turned angry. "You don't know _anything_ about this." He whispered. "You would ruin everything! You'd ruin all of us!"

"He almost _killed_ me." I snapped.

"Oh, grow up!" Draco shouted, and I stomped out of the room. "It isn't all about _you_, Estelle!" I could hear him calling after me. "It isn't all about _you!_"

Perhaps I am a little biased, but that struck me as slightly unfair.

….

Understandably, I found it a little difficult to sleep after that. My hands kept moving to my throat, which was sore and tender- pressing down slightly to feel the dull pain. I would have amazing bruises the next day.

Around that time, I noticed that somebody- Kreacher, no doubt- had left me a meal. It was a Christmas dinner, of course, complete with turkey, vegetables, and even a little serve of chocolate pudding, sprinkled with icing sugar and topped with a sprig of holly.

But I couldn't eat it. I couldn't eat anything.

Absently, I wondered whether I might be in shock. I considered it, evaluating my reaction. I _had_ been rather calm about the whole thing. Too calm?

"Pet?"

I sat bolt upright to look at the door, and the dark shadow that stood there, "what do you want?" I asked, feeling behind me for my wand.

The tall woman- Bellatrix- stepped calmly inside my room.

"Why, just to see you, Pet. I just need to take a quick peek…." She was at my side again, her wand lit and held close to me. It cast eerie shadows on the planes of her face until she seemed, well, demonic. And displeased, "you have a look of your mother." She said plainly, sounding rather annoyed, "quite clearly you take after her- a pity."

"You knew her."

"I did." She agreed, her eyes darting all over my face, "I did indeed."

I paused- waiting for the usual comment, the usual reference to a friendship, or an expression of affection and respect.

"I hated the little bitch." The woman said coldly.

Blinking rapidly in shock, I pushed her wand away from me, getting angrier with every second. "_Allors_." I said through gritted teeth. "There's no reason for you to be here, then."

The woman pouted slightly, her eyes fixed on me. "Oh, _pet_." She said, mock sadly. "There are _several_ reasons."

I stood up abruptly, throwing the covers off of myself. "Get out _now_. This is my room, and I don't want you in here."

Rather than look annoyed, she just smiled, shaking her head slightly, so that he curtains of hair which framed her face fell back, exposing the harsh slant of her cheekbones. I don't think I've ever seen a harsher face. "There it is." She whispered. "You can really see it… when you're angry." I thought I'd actually have to push her out, but she just smiled a little more, and then backed slowly out of the room, not taking her eyes off of me.

I waited till she was gone and then walked over to close the door, pretending that my hands weren't shaking.

Perhaps, then, I was in shock.

Happy Christmas to me.

As though my night weren't wonderful enough, the parade of visitors was not yet finished.

"Estelle?" I turned around to see Lucius standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Lucius." I said tiredly. Rubbing absently at my neck, then wrapping my arms around my waist.

There was a moment's pause, while he looked at me thoughtfully, and then:

"If you _were_ to tell anybody about what you've seen, I would be thrown in jail." He said simply. "And Azkaban is a long way away."

I nodded suspiciously, and Lucius' frown sharpened, as though my reaction had displeased him. "Draco." He said suddenly. "He would be implicated, too."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

His smile grew and stretched til it spread across his face, but he didn't look happy or nice. He looked horrible. "Draco lives in this house, and nobody doubts that he is party to all that goes on here. If _you_ tell the authorities, then I suppose that you'll be considered beyond reproach. But Draco would not be granted the same lenience."

I was silent for a moment, my fingers gingerly brushing across the livid bruises on my neck, hidden by my hair.

When I looked up, Lucius was standing by my bed. "Besides that." He said softly. "I can't imagine that the upheaval of leaving _again_ would be easy for you."

Of course. My mother was French, and so without Lucius' custody, I had no place in England. I'd be sent back to France, back to Beauxbatons.

"_Look at her- where did she get those clothes from? A dumpster? A Dahlquist? More like a Derelict!"_

"_No wonder your mother went and died… if I produced something as shameful as you, I'd probably die of embarrassment, too."_

"_Why don't you just go and die, like your mother? Why don't you just leave?"_

"_My father knew Aureile Dahlquist, and he said she was beautiful and happy when he knew her. So what happened to you? Are you sure that you're even her real daughter?"_

"_It was probably you who killed her. The stress of having such a disgusting child, the shame of ruining the Dahlquist legacy- that's what killed her. You're the reason she's dead."_

"No." I said, my hands clenching into fists. "I wouldn't let them- I'd run. They'd never catch me… I'd hide somewhere far away- I'd live without magic."

I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder, and flinched. Lucius gave a little laugh at my reaction. "Oh, Estelle. Do you really believe that they wouldn't find you? That you could outwit grown wizards?"

I met his gaze angrily. "Get your _hands_ off of me." I snarled, shrugging his arm off my shoulders. "Don't pretend to comfort me!"

"But I _am_ comforting you, Estelle." He said soothingly. "I'm trying to make you see sense. There's no reason that anybody should know about these people being in the house. Am I understood?"

I looked sharply away from him. "They aren't good people." I said, my accent thick as it always was when I was angry or upset. "Why would you want them around your son? Why would you protect them?"

"That." He told me. "Is none of your concern. But, if you must know, what I am doing I _am_ doing for Draco- and for you." I rolled my eyes and looked away. But quick as a flash he was beside me again, grasping my chin and forcing me to look at him. "I am making this world a better place for you children." He said sweetly, and then his voice turned to steel. "And I deserve a little respect."

My smile was cruel. "Well, you won't get it from _me_."

His smile turned downwards into a cruel sneer. "It's a pity you can't be a bit more mature about this, Estelle." He said, sadly, placing his hands on his knees. "Well, I suppose it cannot be helped." He glanced across at me with a sigh. "I won't enchant you, or wipe your memory- you're _family_."

"How sweet." I said, curling my lip.

"What I will do is send you back to Hogwarts." He said smoothly. "It'll be best for you not to be here, if you can't handle the situation. And I know that your presence is unnerving some of my guests."

I pushed my hair out of my face angrily. "Well, we wouldn't want to make _them_ uncomfortable."

Lucius' smile was small and knowing. "You'll be leaving tomorrow." He told me, with no room for argument in his voice. "Be packed- be ready." Moving towards the door, he turned back to face me, silhouetted against the light from the hallway.

"Till then, Estelle, I suggest you stay upstairs. We wouldn't want any more… incidents."'

And then he was gone.

….

I ignored him, of course. The second he was gone, I was running down the stairs, my face twisted in fury.

I'm not sure what I was doing, or what I thought I would achieve, but that didn't stop me. I think perhaps I wanted to see Narcissa, to see if maybe _she_ at least wouldn't banish me back to school.

My realization of my stupidity occurred just as I reached the doorway, to see Narcissa and Bellatrix standing before the cowed figure of Kreacher. Rodolphus Lestrange was there, too, standing by the fireplace.

"Kreacher?" Bellatrix was asking softly, cocking her to one side, a smile lighting her face.

Perturbed, I moved back a little.

"Kreacher- it _is_ Kreacher, isn't it." She threw her head back and let loose a peal of laughter. "Oh, Rodolphus, come and _see_." I tried not to flinch as he passed by me, moving to examine the house-elf.

"Yes. It is." He agreed gruffly, then stalked back over to the fire.

"Mistress." Kreacher whispered. "Mistress Bellatrix." She smiled, and for a moment, she looked beautiful, she looked nice.

"Oh, I never thought I'd miss an _elf_, but I feel.. at home again when I see you." She whispered gleefully. Then, suddenly, her sanity seemed to fall away from her in shreds. "Is Master Black still….?"

Kreacher's face twisted itself into a bitter scowl. "Blood traitor, disgrace." He muttered. "My poor mistress- mudbloods and bloodtraitors living in her house, defiling her home."

"So he's there?" she asked eagerly, her long fingers dancing around Kreacher's face. "He's there? He's at the house?"

Again, Kreacher's face twisted. "Kreacher cannot say." He moaned through clenched teeth. "Kreacher was told _not_ to say."

Bellatrix hissed in disappointment, but Narcissa was at her side in an instant. "Calm down, Bella." She said softly. "It's alright- it's all alright. And Kreacher will help however he can. Won't you, Kreacher?"

Nodding earnestly, Kreacher stretched his old fingers forwards in supplication. "Yes.. y-yes. Kreacher will help in every way."

"Good." Bellatrix said, and suddenly she seemed frighteningly sane. "Good." And then suddenly, she was looking at me. "Oh- _Estelle_." She sneered. "It isn't a good name," she muttered to herself. "It's so foreign. And no history."

Narcissa looked up and met my eyes. "I told you to stay upstairs, Estelle," she said, and I felt my mouth turn down into a furious glare.

"I suppose I just wanted to get throttled again." I sneered, and Bellatrix blinked in shock. I thought at first she was taken aback by my rudeness, but then she began to laugh- a loud, shrieking laugh.

"Ah- her _face_! Did you see her face? Just like… just like…"

"Bella!" Narcissa said, sounding firm, and then she turned to me. I was standing there, caught somewhere between embarrassment and fury, blushing and clenching my fists. "Estelle- upstairs, please."

_Make me_, I wanted to say. But then they would just pull out their wands, and I wasn't anywhere near good enough to stop them. I was angry, but my Slytherin sense of self-preservation kicked in. My ego would suffer if they carried me out of there like a child.

So slowly and deliberately, I strode back up the stairs, looking down my nose at them all, chin raised and eyes full of contempt.

…..

Lucius sent me back to school the next day, early in the morning. He told Draco it was because he wanted them to spend some time together, but from the look on Draco's face, he knew that Lucius was just getting me out of the way.

He didn't say anything, though.

Narcissa didn't come down to say goodbye to me. Neither did Draco. It was just Lucius and I, standing awkwardly before the main fireplace in the sun room.

"Alright." He said stiffly, looking down at me with dissatisfaction. "You're ready, I assume."

I looked around the room tiredly. Some of the enchanted snowflakes were still swirling halfheartedly around. "Do say goodbye to your guests for me." I said sweetly, and Lucius scowled.

He threw a fistful of floo powder into the fire and said loudly "Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizadry."

I stepped into the fire, grasping my rucksack in my hand. Just before the flames engulfed me, I met his eyes. They were cold and icy blue. I couldn't help but smile viciously. "Merry Christmas, Uncle Lucius." I told him, and then I was gone.

I stumbled out of the fireplace, right onto a Persian carpet.

"Off. You are _covering_ my office with your filth." Blinking in confusion, I turned to see Snape standing behind me.

"No." I murmured. "No, no _no_." He just smiled at me, and so once again- feeling tears of frustration beginning to well up in my eyes- I said. "_No_!"

"Full sentences, please, Miss Dahlquist." He drawled, sounding spectacularly full of hate. "I do realize that your limited English makes this a _difficult_ request, but nonetheless." Sighing, he stepped back from me, as though I were somehow corrupting him with my presence. "Lucius Malfoy informed me that you would be arriving, and that I would need to greet you." His lip curled. "You can imagine what _joy_ I felt when I heard I would be graced with your company. But alas, the fun cannot last forever." His eyes hardened. "Get your arrogant little self _out_ of my office. And do try not to bully too many students on the way to your dorm."

Confused, I frowned. "I don't _bully_ anyone."

"Of _course_ not." Snape said, voice silky with sarcasm. "Everybody just adores having you around. Who wouldn't? The last Dahlquist- so elegant and poised." As he said that, his eyes traveled over my soot stained clothes. Which were, naturally, a pair of ripped jeans and an old rock t-shirt. Then, with a slow, cruel smile, he turned away.

Perhaps I'd had it by then. Perhaps yesterday's assault, and Lucius threatening me, and my fight with Draco had all gotten to be too much. But for whatever reason, just then, I cracked.

"Why are you so threatened by me?" I demanded impulsively, and he turned around, his eyes flashing.

"Me?" he asked silkily. "Threatened by _you_? Don't make me laugh."

"So what?" I cried. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?" And then, finally speaking aloud what I'd assumed since the first time he'd been cruel to me. "What did my _mother_ ever do to you?"

He looked almost taken aback. "Aurelie?" He asked uncertainly. And then, his eyes regained their steel. "She did nothing. I was too insignificant to attract the notice of one so lofty and _superior_." His lip curled.

Something occurred to me. "Did you like her?" I asked, aware that this had to be the most awkward conversation ever had between Professor and student. "And she didn't notice you? Is that it?"

Now he looked furious. "Me _like_ that little slut?" He hissed. "Never. I _never_ liked _her. _I would never care for anybody who spread their legs so easily."

"She was not a _slut_!" I shouted, throwing my rucksack at him, and thereby fully crossing the line. "And even if she was, at least she was never a _loser_ like you!"

Snape's eyes flashed. "What?" he asked dangerously. But for some reason, perhaps shock, perhaps curiousity, he didn't shout or deduct points. He just waited for me to continue.

I tossed my hair out of my eyes. "I _know_ your type." I said viciously. "You were a _loser_ in school- probably had pimples, and horrid clothes. And you would've been the brightest student, but had _no_ friends at all!" Still he said nothing, just stared at me with dark, unreadable eyes. I could feel myself starting to cry a little, and I dashed the tears away with the heel of my hand. "But you know what? If I remember one thing about my mother, it's that she was only ever cruel to people who deserved it." I stepped up close to him, searching his eyes. "I don't believe you when you say that she never noticed you." I told him. "You were in her house- in her year. I'll bet she was _nice_ to you." He flinched a little. "I'll bet that she never treated you any differently than the popular boys. Maybe she didn't flirt with you, maybe she never showed any interest, but I'll bet she was charming and droll and I'll bet you _wanted_ to be her friend." He didn't contradict me at all, and somehow that made me angrier. "So then _why do you hate me so much_?" I screamed at him.

There was a long, tense, moment of silence. Snape held my gaze, his eyes flicking briefly over my face, taking in my hair, my nose, my mouth. But when he met my eyes, his gaze hardened almost instantly, as though he'd seen something horrible. I knew then that what I said had made no difference.

"Twenty points." He said softly. "From Slytherin." I refused to let my shoulders slump, and ignored the fact that my tears were running freely now. So long as I didn't make a sound, I told myself, it didn't count as crying. "And I think," Snape continued, "that a week's worth of detention with Professor Umbridge would be in order."

I set my jaw, battling desperately to keep my fury in check. "_Fine_." I said, reaching down to pick up my rucksack. "Fine. That makes sense, actually. You wouldn't want to deal with me _yourself_." I smirked at him, which would have been much more effective were my eyes not still watery.

Hefting my rucksack onto my shoulder, I strode to the door, chin lifted, shoulders back, posture ramrod straight. And all the way back to my dormitory, I marvelled over the sheer number of conflicts I'd gotten into over the holidays.

'Twas clearly the season to be jolly.

xxxxxxx

A/N: Here's another chapter. Once more, please please review :)


	8. Chapter 8

Term began on a bad note. Draco and I weren't speaking. So Pansy and I weren't speaking. So Draco wasn't speaking to Pansy, because it was a family thing, and she shouldn't have been involved.

Jess and Carmeline weren't speaking to Draco _or _Pansy. Blaise wasn't speaking to _anyone_ because he found conflict irksome, and so was avoiding it.

I don't think Crabbe and Goyle knew how to talk.

And of course, nobody else would shut up, because of all the amazing Christmas presents they'd got, and _all_ the catching up they had to do, after spending a whole two weeks apart.

It was sheer agony to watch.

I was almost relieved that I didn't have to participate fully this year.

That relief disappeared on the second day of term, about midway through breakfast. I was drinking eating some scrambled eggs, and explaining to Marcus Cleevebridge just _why_ I would never, ever, _ever_ go out with him. _Ever_. Carmeline was flirting unsuccessfully with Blaise (who was maintaining his silent treatment of the whole table) and Jess was beginning the homework she was meant to have done in the holidays.

"… you're a little bit of a boor. I don't mean that unkindly.." I told Marcus, upon whom the past ten minutes of rejection had had no effect. He waggled his eyebrows at me.

"I'm a caveman, baby." He said, and I sniffed disdainfully.

"Is that supposed to be _attractive_? I can't really tell." He winked, and I turned desperately to Carmeline.

"Save me!" I demanded, and she turned away from Blaise irritated, only to shake her head and turn back to him.

"So… I'm guessing your holidays were good.." As Blaise failed to ask the traditional, reciprocal question, Carmeline decided to answer it, unasked. "Mine were good, too. I realised," she batted her eyelids, "over Christmas that something was missing from my presents.. That I wanted something that I hadn't been given- _couldn't_ be given." She leaned forwards, exposing a reasonable amount of cleavage. "I need a man in my life."

Blaise looked at her impassively, then turned away, drumming his fingers Boredly on the table.

I turned back to Marcus. "I find intelligence _incredibly_ attractive." I told him quickly. "And you're…. well, you're fairly stupid, really. So it just goes to show that if I find intelligence _attractive_, I find stupidity the _biggest_ possible turn off."

Marcus frowned, and ironically attempted to show some sign of intelligent life. "There's no reason that it'd be a turn off." He said slowly. "It might just be… neutral. Why don't you find stupidity neutral?"

I threw my hands in the air in desperation. "I don't make the rules, Cleevebridge." I fumed.

Cleevebridge leaned forwards, putting his hand on my knee. "But baby, you can _break_ them with me." He said, voice pitched low in an attempt to be sexy.

The few choice words I used to reply to him were unfortunately drowned out by the deafening flutter of wings as the post arrived.

"Goddamn!" I heard Jess swear. "Could these owls _be_ more careless? I'm _covered _in marmalade, now." I glanced over at her, watching with a smile as she extracted the Daily Prophet from where it had crash landed on her plate.

"The colour suits you." I told her, and she threw a bread roll at me.

"How about you….. Merlin!"

I was grinning as I took a bite out of the roll, "what?" I laughed. "What?" Without saying a word, she flipped the Prophet over to show me the front page. I'd just managed to read the first few words- "MASS BREAKOUT… AZKABAN"- when I felt the bile rise up in my throat. Again, my fingers darted to my throat, where the bruises were still vivid against my skin.

Carmeline had her hand over her mouth in shock, and even Marcus had quietened. "Oh… Merlin." Somebody breathed. "Read it, Jess.. what does it say?"

Jess read, her eyes darting frantically across the paper. "Ten." She said quietly. "Ten got free. Ten _high security_ prisoners."

Carmeline leaned over, frowning at the article. "Dolohov." She muttered. "Isn't Eli from sixth year a Dolohov?"

Marcus nodded slowly. "Yeah.. they're cousins, I think. Why? Reckon he was involved?"

"Don't be an idiot." Somebody snapped angrily. I realised after a moment that it was me. I frowned at them. "Eli wouldn't have anything to do with this. You can't _choose_ your family." As I said that last, my eyes flicked up to Blaise, who was watching me impassively.

Jess nodded. "Besides- it says who is responsible." She flopped the paper onto the table in the middle of us all, and I winced as I recognised the faces of Bellatrix and my cousin- Lestrange. But Jess ignored them, her finger falling to rest on another face, printed in miniature. "Sirius Black." She said firmly. "He's behind it."

I craned my neck to look at his face, pretending that my heartbeat wasn't sounding in my ears. I waited for the shock of recognition, searched my mind for a memory of him- their ringleader, their boss. But I couldn't find one. I'd never seen that man in my life.

"Who is he?" I murmured, and Jess waved a hand dismissively.

"He escaped from Azkaban, a couple of years ago." She leaned in close. "_He's_ the one who killed all those little muggles, and that other wizard. And my mother says that _he_ sold the Potters to You Know Who." Enjoying her role as the information giver, Jess continued. "It says that he freed them in order to rally them up.. all You Know Who's followers." And then the smug look disappeared from her face as she looked at Carmeline. "Carmie," she said, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Carmeline was sitting silently, staring at her plate. "They think old death eaters broke them out?" She asked quietly. We all nodded, and she sighed, clenching her fists. When she looked up at us, her eyes were terrified. "So they'll want to be questioning most of our parents, then."

Jess shook her head wildly. "Not me, not me!" She insisted, "My father was the ambassador to Australia during the war. We had nothing to do with anything."

"Yeah, and _my_ father said he'd been imperiurised and got off." Carmeline snapped. "Doesn't mean they won't be questioning him. And my mum. And Crabbe's dad, and Goyle's dad…. And the Malfoys."

I glanced up, keeping my eyes guarded. Only Blaise was watching me, looking thoughtful.

"I think you're overreacting." Jess said slowly, and Carmeline laughed, not being as sweet as usual anymore.

"Really? You do?" she scoffed. "Look around you, Jess." She gestured to the great hall. "The Hufflepuffs look worried, and the Ravenclaws look scared. The Gryffindors look like they're ready to go and hunt down these escapees themselves.. and us?" she sighed. "We look petrified, and some of us even look _glad_."

I looked around, considering what she'd said. It was true. "The whole hall is shouting." I said quietly. "They're all outraged. But Slytherin is silent- we're _whispering_, why are we _whispering_?"

"Because!" Carmeline said. "These are our relatives, and our parents old friends. Our families are at risk here."

The silence surrounding us all was deafening, especially in contrast with the shouts and calls from the other house tables.

"This _must _be a misprint."

We all turned to Blaise, bewildered by his words- the first, mind you, that he'd spoken since we got back to school.

"A misprint, Blaise. Really?" I snarled. "Which part? Or is it the _whole_ article? Is the whole article a mistake?"

He shrugged coolly, but I saw the fear in his eyes before he turned away. His mother had been married a million times… had she been married to a Death Eater? Or was she related to one of the escapees?

Really, it could be anything. We were all implicated. Most of the Slytherins were purebloods, and many of the purebloods had been Death Eaters. I looked up at the table, wondering how many of my housemates had cousins in Azkaban, or parents who'd stood trial.

"I'm scared, Estelle." Carmeline said from my side, her voice small and pinched.

Cleevebridge was the one who answered her, frowning in confusion. "Oh, don't be, Burke." He said kindly. "They can't get into Hogwarts."

The look she gave him was blank and sad. He couldn't understand- he wasn't pureblood, he was halfblood. And his family wasn't hadn't been involved in the war at all.

"I'm not scared of the _inmates_." Carmeline said hollowly. "I'm scared of the Ministry. I'm scared for my father."

Nobody really knew what to say to that.

….

For the next few days, the Slytherin common room was solemn and quiet. I think that everybody was just avoiding talking about the breakout. After the initial, hushed, breakfast conversations, everybody wanted to forget it had ever happened.

But that didn't mean that we could.

Everyday, frantic letters were exchanged- parents to students to cousins to aunties to uncles to neighbours. Everybody was trying to work out- without being obvious- what was going on. Each and every student was desperate to be able to cross their parents off the list of potential suspects. But few people could.

Still, as the days went by, we returned to normal. There were still periods of fear and melancholy, and people wrote their parents every day, without exception, to keep up to date. But other than that, we were just like every other house.

Draco had started talking to me again. Sort of.

I hadn't started talking to him. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to. I kept seeing the Longbottom boy in the halls and remembering the line from that article- Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured his parents into insanity, and she was free.

And I'd met her.

And I hadn't told anybody.

The guilt was stifling. But how could I tell? It was so much harder now that I knew who they were, but I still couldn't do it. I couldn't destroy the Malfoys like that. They were my family. They were all I had.

And my instincts have _always_ been towards self preservation.

More than that, though. I'd lost a family before- I wouldn't let it happen again.

Another way in which the breakout affected everybody was in our Defence Lessons. The entire school's frustration with Umbridge reached new heights as we were confronted with the very real possibility of a threat, and no way at all to counter it.

…

"This is pointless." I said. By my side, Jess shot me a dark look. She'd had enough trouble with Umbridge to be a little wary of irritating her. "What?" I hissed. "It _is_."

"Did you say something, dear?" I glanced up to see Umbridge standing not a foot away from me, smiling broadly. Clearly, she was content with today's lesson plan- copying out the first chapter of our textbook into note form.

Jess caught my eye, and slowly shook her head: _No_, Estelle.

"Um. No, I didn't." I said, frowning at Jess. "I didn't say anything."

Umbridge's smile broadened a little more, her lips stretched thin across her face. "Well." She said, clasping her stubby fingers together. "Well, that's _good_, now, isn't it? After all, you don't want to make that insolence of yours a habit now, do we?"

Unable to help myself, I glowered at her. "It may _already_ be a habit, professor." I told her. Jess elbowed me in the ribs.

Clearly deciding that this battle could be fought another day, Umbridge nodded serenely and moved on, her beady eyes already flicking around for another target.

"This is a complete load of crap." I heard somebody matter. The voice could have come from anywhere- Slytherin, Ravenclaw. Later, both sides would claim that it had been one of their own who'd started the whole thing, as though it were something impressive, something to be proud of. Really, it was just something to be _expected_. We should have done it long ago.

My complaint had been whispered. I hadn't said it to make a scene or cause a fight- I'd just been expressing an opinion. _This_ wasn't like that. Whoever that person was, they were inciting rebellion, and they wanted Umbridge to hear it.

So she did. "Who might've said _that_?" she asked, blinking innocently. "Which of you lovely children would say such a thing?"

There was a moment of silence, and then. "It came from the Slytherin side." A Ravenclaw blurted. "Not us! _Them_."

"That is _such_ a lie!" Leon Bryce hissed. "It wasn't from _our_ side- we heard it clearly. It came from the Ravenclaws… they think they're _so_ smart." I had to bury my head in my hands to stop myself from grinning like an idiot.

Perhaps our reactions seem a little over the top. Why the blame game? It isn't like she could punish _all_ of us? Not a whole house.

Only, she could. Just ask those third year Gryffindors.

"It was _you_!" A Ravenclaw girl added her voice to the mix. "I'll bet it was Osyth!"

By my side, Jess hissed in annoyance. "I've told you a hundred million times, Stevens." She snarled. "Your boyfriend _threw_ himself at me- I rejected him. Like I'd want your sloppy seconds. Don't _blame _ me for crap!"

"Language, Miss Osyth." Umbridge interjected chirpily. "And I think that will be _quite_ enough of that behaviour."

Instant silence.

Umbridge gave a satisfied smile and waddled to the front of the classroom. "I've been very disappointed, since term began." She said, smiling a truly gruesome smile. "to see how your work ethic has deteriorated. Studiousness _is_ key, but you spend your time gossiping, and complaining, and exchanging ridiculous conspiracy theories." Her voice turned harsh on that last note, and the whole class leaned back in fear. But almost instantly, the smile was back. "I have noticed this _particularly_ in my lessons with you all. And it has been most disappointing indeed." She illustrated this with a mournful shake of her head. "The Minister for Magic has invested _so_ much energy in this program, and you seem to be squandering his efforts."

I sighed, settling myself in for yet another hour long lecture on the wonders of Minister Fudge. Absently, I picked up my quill and began to doodle on the inside front cover of my textbook. After a moment, Carmeline leaned over to see, and had to stifle a laugh. Curious, Jess peeked at it as well, and smiled her favourite malicious smile.

"I'd believe it." she said softly.

I'd drawn a little caricature of Fudge and Umbridge, embracing by a fireplace, lying on the pelt of a centaur. After a moment of listening to her speech, I added a little speech bubble coming from her mouth:

"_Don't worry, Minister. I've studied the _theory_ of screwing most thoroughly."_

Carmeline looked again, then bit down on her fist to keep from laughing. Jess shushed us angrily, pointing to the professor.

"I think, students, that you will find these lessons _most_ useful." Umbridge was saying, her voice reaching that sickly level of sweetness which meant that she was ready to punish somebody. Thanks for the heads up, Jess.

"Yeah, but aren't we meant to be learning _defence_?" A Ravenclaw boy asked bravely. "How does this help with that?"

Umbridge waddled over to him, causing his friends to shoot five feet away, as though he were contaminated by some awful disease. "Well, Mr Corner, the Ministry of Magic itself approves this curriculum." She cooed. "And they had determined that a two-step process to learning such spells is _most _effective. Step one." She held up one horrid little finger. "You learn the theory of the spell." She gave him a pointed little smile, and eyeing the caricature again, Carmeline snorted. "Step _two_: when attacked, you _use_ it." She leaned forwards, till she was inches away from the boy. "You don't think you know better than the Minister of Magic, do you, Mr Corner?"

I couldn't help it. Perhaps I ought to have shown restraint, but I was past that. "Yeah." I drawled. "Besides- I think it's clear how these methods can be used to ward off assailants in a two step system, as the professor says." There was an expectant silence, and I shrugged. "Step One: we unnerve the enemy with our truly excellent penmanship." I held up two fingers in a passing imitation of Umbrigde. "And _two_: we quote from the textbook at them, until they die of boredom."

Perhaps as a reaction from months of repression, the entire class let out an involuntary bark of laughter, almost like an explosion.

Of course, they all reigned themselves in almost instantly, exchanging shocked, terrified glances. They had seen people speak out before, and seen those who'd laughed be torn down. And by now, we'd all seen people – usually Gryffindors – emerging from her detentions with the skin on their hands raw and tender looking, or even worse- bleeding. Everybody knew to be careful.

But as Umbridge stood there, squat and almost puce in her anger, it was like we couldn't control ourselves. To my surprise, it was a Ravenclaw who began it. Not Loony Luna, or the Corner boy, but one of the more studious ones. I didn't know his name, only that he spent every class looking smugly superior and taking copious amounts of notes.

Not today, though. No, today, he started to giggle. Just little huffing noises at first, as though he was having trouble breathing. Then, his face turned pink, and his laugh got louder and more pronounced. And then, he was no longer alone. The whole class began to laugh, and not in an amused way- in a malicious way. Corner in particular was smiling deviously at Umbridge, as though revelling in her downfall. I couldn't blame him.

By my side, Jess was clutching her sides, tears in her eyes, and Carmeline had her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Marcus Cleevebridge was laughing in huge, guffawing bursts.

I can be vain, but I wasn't stupid. They weren't laughing at my half-hearted wit-they were laughing at the whole, ridiculous situation. At a year spent full of stress and panic over Umbridge's rules and regulations, over the lack of _useful_ work we were doing. Over the news of the Azkaban breakout. They were terrified. And somehow, that had pushed them to the edge. The laughter was almost frenzied. It felt like it had gone on for hours, but in reality it was only a few seconds before Umbridge intervened.

"Enough!" She piped up, sounding like a child who'd dropped their ice-cream on the floor- petulant and indignant.

It took a moment for the laughter to die down, but it did, and as the class was quieting, it became clearer and clearer that Umbridge was seriously considering hexing me into oblivion. Her eyes were unnaturally focussed, and she was barely blinking. Her jaw was clenched, and you could see the vein on her head throbbing.

"Why is it," she began sweetly, "that after all this time, Miss Dahlquist, you still find it impossible to be _civil_?"

Difficult to answer. "I suppose." I said thoughtfully. "it's because _you_ refuse to do your job." Her eyes bulged, and I continued. "If we were attacked, any of us- not by… You know Who… and not by some evil wizard, but just, I don't know, by an animal, or a mugger, or a psycho- not one of us could defend ourselves on what we've learned here." I leaned forwards. "If a muggle came at me with a knife, I'd have no idea what to do. If somebody tried to _choke_ me…." My voice cracked a little, and with effort I pulled myself back together. "I'd just die unless somebody else stepped in."

"Twenty points from Slytherin." Umbridge smiled. "For.. histrionics."

I laughed. "What? Showing concern about my safety, and the safety of my classmates is _histrionics_ now? There are dangerous witches and wizards on the loose." I snapped at her. "You've seen the papers. And apparently Azkaban- most secure prison of the Wizarding World- is less impregnable than we thought- especially if a _single_ fugitive could battle of dozens of dementors to rescue his comrades. And if _one_ man can break out ten prisoners, how many could a team of eleven free?" I smirked at her. "You're close to the minister, Professor." I drawled. "How long til the rest of Azbakan's inmates are walking the streets?"

There was a moment of silence. And then-

"Fifty points from Slytherin." There was a hiss of shock and outrage from the Slytherin side- such a huge deduction of points was excessive. Umbridge's voice was no longer sweet or jolly. She sounded like she'd rip me apart with her bear hands, if only it wouldn't stain her sweater. "You're spreading _panic_, Miss Dahlquist, and deliberately unnerving your fellow students. And your words demonstrate how little you understand about these matters."

"So… explain?" To my surprise, it was Marcus Cleevebridge who asked, for once not sounding like a complete idiot.

Umbridge spun to face him, faster than I'd imagined was possible for a woman her size. "You are _children_, Mr Cleevebridge." She said, all sweetness and charm once again, "these are matter for _adults_. Rest assured that the Minister is dedicated to ensuring all of your safety, and that this program is the best method to do so." She beamed at everybody. "That's all you need to know."

And with that she turned to me. "Miss Dahlquist." She said, tone clipped and restrained. "You will now move to the front of the classroom, away from your little friends." She gave a girlish titter. "Perhaps_ then_ you will find it easier to concentrate on the material."

As I held her gaze, Jess leaned over, subtley swapping our textbooks- she took my graffitied one, with the caricature of Umbridge, and slid her pristine one over to me. Inwardly grateful, I picked it up and strode to the front of the class, watching as Umbridge conjured a tiny pink desk to stand beside her own. "Right next to _me_, please, Miss Dahlquist." I dumped my things, accidentally upending my inkwell on the desk.

"Oops." I drawled, and collapsed languidly into the seat. Umbridge kept her girly smile plastered on her face as she cleaned up me mess for me.

"I think, Miss Dahlquist." She said sweetly, "That a week's worth of detentions with me would benefit you."

"I disagree."

"I shall also notify Professor Snape, and he can think of a punishment for you, as well." She smiled. "Beyond, of course, managing to lose seventy house points in ten minutes."

She was right. That had to be some sort of record.

…..

Jess and Carmeline caught up to me as we left. "Seventy points!" Jess moaned. "This is terrible! And detention _and_ Snape. He already hates you!"

I shrugged. "Maybe _he_ should get with Umbridge." I suggested. "Imagine their children… pure evil with greasy hair and a penchant for pastels."

Despite herself, Jess laughed along with Carmeline as we headed for the stairs.

"That was pretty cool- what you said."

I turned to see a couple of Ravenclaws leaning against the corner of the stairwell. I recognised the Corner boy from my class, and also the nerdy one who'd laughed first, although he looked a little disgruntled and uncomfortable.

I couldn't help but wink at him, just to make him squirm even more.

"_Estelle_!" Jess hissed, nudging me. On my other side, Carmeline refused to meet anybody's eyes, looking thoroughly pissed off. Seeing that she'd get no help from Carmeline, Jess turned to the Ravenclaws. "What are you talking about, bird brain?" she snapped.

The Corner boy shrugged, and I noticed that he had his arm slung around that awful, superior little Weasley girl. She met my gaze and smirked a little, placing one hand on Corner's chest and flicking her hair out of her eyes.

Corner shrugged again. "I'm not interested in starting a fight- I'm just saying, it's cool that you did that, even if you got detention."

Weaslette looked annoyed by this statement, and shifted a little under his arm. Corner smiled at her but didn't seem overly perturbed. He turned right back to me, although he was rubbing her back with easy affection. "So- why did you do it? Was it the breakout? Did that get you thinking? Cause Potter says…."

"Mike." Weaslette hissed, shooting him a darkly significant look.

"S'alright, Gin." He said, looking calmly back at me. "Just making conversation."

I wasn't looking. I hadn't been paying attention since he mentioned the Azkaban breakout. My nails were digging little crescents into my palms, and I felt my face flushing. "Come on, Jess, Carmeline." I said softly, but with a little steel in my voice.

Corner frowned. "Aren't you going to…?"

I met his gaze directly. "I never need an excuse to tear down a bitch." I told him simply, and then I strode off.

…..

"Bloody hell!" the boy exclaimed, "where did you spring from?"

I'd been running to lunch when out of nowhere, some oaf had careened into me. I seemed to be making a habit of being rammed by complete strangers.

Picking my things up off of the floor, with more than a little resentment, I shot a glare up at him, "haven't you had that talk with your parents yet, Gryffindor?"

To my surprise, I recognised him. It was that Weasley- the quidditch one- the _awful_ at quidditch one. He flushed a pretty distinctive red, matching his hair, "obviously _yours_ haven't talked to you about manners yet, _Malfoy_."

I raised an eyebrow, "Dahlquist," I corrected with a vicious little smile, "and my mother is dead. But hey, if the father I never knew comes to pay me a visit, I'll ask about these 'manners', as you call them."

He turned redder. I hadn't thought that possible.

"Ron, what are you…. Estelle!"

"Oh, great." I muttered.

Harry laughed, clapping the redheaded boy on the shoulder, "Ron, this is that girl I was telling you about."

"Of course he's a friend of yours," I said scathingly, "I should have known when he knocked all of the books out of my hands."

Harry rolled his eyes, and waved his hand dismissively. As though I'd made a particularly silly joke, not quite warranting his attention, but demonstrative of our wonderful friendship. Obviously, he'd been spending too much time around me.

"Oh, Estelle," he shook his head lightly and indulgently (what, was I a child?), then looked back at me, sharply, "so- are you looking forwards to the Hogsmeade weekend?"

I shrugged lightly, "can't say that I've given it too much thought, actually. Why?"

He grinned, "you should come with us- Ron and I- although I'm going with Cho, I think. Oh, and Hermione. But you don't know her…."

"I don't know him, either," I pointed out, jerking my head in the Weasley's direction. "and I can't say I feel that I'm at too much of a loss, so far."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "claws in, kitten." He said, and though his tone was still friendly, I could tell that he found my rudeness grating.

Interesting- he didn't mind how abrasive I was to him, but if I wasn't civil to his friends….

And more interesting still, I felt a little… guilty. As though I shouldn't have been rude. What was this?

"Sorry," I heard myself say, "it's sort of reflexive, lately."

"Being a bitch?" the Weasley asked sarcastically. Harry shot a glare his way.

I smiled tightly, "ma, _oui_," I said sweetly, "the French are _always_ condescending. It is in our blood." And then again, that flash of guilt. This Weasley didn't seem so bad, "but truly, I am sorry. I don't know you- I shouldn't be cruel to you."

"No," he grumbled a little, but even as he did, he looked up at me, appraisingly. I felt myself stiffen, unsure if he was trying to gauge my character, or checking me out. I decided I didn't care. So what if he was smiling? His eyes showed that, like the rest, he was judging me.

I dislike being judged, "see something you like?" I asked, voice soft and breathy.

He blinked rapidly, thrown off, and his face turned redder.

"Um…"

"She's teasing, Ron." Harry's voice sounded bored. But more than that, he sounded annoyed. "Ignore her."

I felt a grin spring to my face, "if you can," I said, batting my eyelashes a little. Boys are so easy to make uncomfortable. This one was no exception. Beet red, to the tips of his ears, he muttered something awkward and looked to Potter.

I grinned in triumph. Potter, however, was unimpressed, "and so the Slytherin in you comes out," he said dryly, "you really like making people feel awkward, don't you?"

I shrugged, "I get a kick out of it, yes."

"Elle!" somebody called. I turned around to see Blaise and Draco heading towards me, and while Blaise just wore his usual, slightly sardonic expression, Draco looked livid.

"Merde." I muttered, and turned to face them, praying that Potter and his friend would get the message and bugger off before Draco killed them, "hey."

"What are you doing talking to them?" Blaise asked languidly, brushing my hair off of my shoulders. I could only hope that his tone, so casual, meant that the Gryffindors had done the sensible thing and left.

"Why do you get a say over who she talks to, Zabini?" I heard the Weasley boy spit.

"Shut it, blood traitor." Blaise said coolly, "and stand back. God, it just makes you long for the days when the peasants knew to keep their stinking selves away from the nobility."

"What?" the Weasley boy demanded, obviously intent on continuing his stupidity.

"I can smell your tainted blood from here, Weasley," Blaise smirked, his hand dropping to my waist.

"Oh, lighten up, Zabini," I said, annoyed now, "I can talk to whoever I like. Especially considering that _some_ people aren't actually talking to me, at the moment." I knew better than to address Draco.

Blaise met my eyes, looking mildly surprised. "Of course you can. I didn't say you couldn't, I just asked why you _would_." I noticed that he side-stepped the issue of his 'silent treatment' tactic completely.

On his other side, Draco hissed at this statement, and Blaise rolled his eyes, "alright, Elle, I reckon we should move away from here before Draco has a fit." His eyes glanced over Potter and Weasley, "you want to say goodbye to the Boy-Who-Lost-It and his pet weasel?"

"Piss off, Zabini," Potter snarled, "or do you want to fight it out, here and now."

Men are so stupid sometimes.

"Do what you like." I announced, "I'm leaving. I'm hungry and the feast started ages ago. There'll be no good food left at all." And then, without looking back at them, I strode off, my fury mounting with each step.

How _dare_ Blaise and Draco try and police my actions after ignoring me for two weeks? How _dare_ Blaise be so touchy feely- as though we were some sort of couple. How _dare_ Draco just sit there and say nothing at all. How _dare_ that Weasley idiot attempt to defend me?

"Dahlquist!"

"Oh, go _away_, Zabini…" I began to say, but when I turned around, it was Potter. I sniffed. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

He shrugged, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I don't know." He said lamely. "I thought…."

"You _didn't_ think." I snapped. "I don't want to talk to you. And why in _hell_ would I want to go to Hogsmeade with you and your friends?" I ran my hands through my hair, beyond frustrated. "I don't _know_ you, Potter. We're not really friends- do you understand that?"

Potter met my gaze steadily, looking pensive and serious. Eventually, he spoke. "I _have_ thought about it, Dahlquist." He said, and I noticed for the first time that he was calling me by my last name. It sounded odd, somehow. "I have thought about it, and we _are_ friends. Maybe it's _you_ who needs to rethink this."

And with a knowing look, he strode off.

"Well." A voice said silkily from behind me. "He was in a hurry."

I jumped about a foot in the air, my hear beating furiously against my chest and my fingers clutching wildly at my wand. But it was just Blaise. As I watched, he raised his eyebrows appraisingly.

"Calm down, Dahlquist." He said, chastisingly. "I was just saying that Potter might be late."

I tried to calm myself down, cursing how jumpy I'd been since the holidays. "Oh? Late for what?"

Blaise's smile was slow and measured. "Remedial Potions." He said mockingly. "And you said that _intelligence_ was the quality you found attractive."

…

Somehow, I ended up going with Elliot Pucey to the Hogsmeade weekend.

Jess almost slapped me, but was thankfully distracted by Blaise walking in wearing a rather dashing blazer/jeans ensemble. Carmeline just shook her head and told me that I was an idiot.

But they did help me get ready.

Or at least, they tried to wake me up.

…..

"Estelle! Estelle _what_ are you doing?" I murmured sleepily, rolling over. Estelle!"

Somebody ripped the covers off of me. Most unkindly, too, I thought.

"NO!" I shouted vaguely, flailing around pathetically as I tried to find my quilt. "No… I…. sleep, please!"

Through my bleary eyes, I saw Jess' face swoop in, inches away from my own. "Wake _up_, Estelle." She snapped. "You have a date! You have to get ready!"

I considered this, thoughtfully weighing Pucey's potential as a date for Valentine's day against the merits of sleeping in.

Pucey was a quidditch player. He was a year older than us. He was tall and good looking, with thick brown hair and a well-defined jaw. He didn't have pimples and he was quite charming on occasion.

But my bed was so comfortable…

"I'm not going." I mumbled, shoving my head between my pillows and curling up into a ball.

Jess sighed, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Of _course_ you are, sweetheart." She cooed sweetly, sounding freakishly like Umbridge. "It's not some pimply, awkward adolescent waiting for you down there- it's Elliot Pucey!"

"Oh.." I said, voice muffled by my pillows. "You can have him."

Jess made to answer, but was promptly distracted by my posture. "How can you _breathe_ like that, Estelle?" she asked in wonder. "Your face is completely shoved into that pillow. It's like you're smothering yourself."

"I don't _need_ to breathe." I mumbled. "I'm _asleep_."

"Sleeping people breathe, too." Jess corrected me gently. "But they _don't_ talk. I don't think you're really asleep, Elle. I think you're avoiding this date."

Of course I was.

"Am _not_." I heard Jess sigh, and then suddenly I was drenched in icy cold water. _"Merde!_ What are you doing, Osyth?" I sat bolt upright, rivulets of water trickling down my face to see Jess staring impassively at me.

As I watched, she shrugged. "Waking you up." She said simply.

Defeated, I stayed upright, slumping my shoulders and curling my legs underneath me. _Maman _always used to say that I stretched like a cat in the morning. She wasn't lying, and I had yet to grow out of it.

"He's _boring_." I lamented, while Jess made disappointed noises as she poked at the bird's nest that was my hair. "He only talks about quidditch!"

"Well don't _listen_ to him, Elle!" Carmeline said from the neighbouring bed, peeking out from behind her drapes. "Just… spend that time admiring his physique."

I tried not to grimace. "Why do I do these things to myself?" I muttered in French.

Jess, whose second cousin had run off to France, murmured back. "Because you like to suffer." I shot her a bleary but affronted look, and Carmeline frowned.

"What did you say?" she asked sternly. "Come on- out with it. Just because I can't speak French.."

"I told Elle that she likes to suffer." Jess helpfully put in.

Carmeline's eyes brightened up. "Oh, that's true. It makes her feel better about herself."

"You're both _no_ help." I snapped at them. "No help at all."

Jess frowned at me. "_I_ help." She said. "I introduced you and Pucey.. back when _I_ liked him. And now, I'm going to do something pretty with your hair…"

As she reached behind me, gently gathering my mess of hair into her hands, her fingers brushed my neck.

In a second, I was gone, darting away from her and scrambling for my wand.

"Estelle!" Carmeline cried in shock. It was only then that I saw that I had my wand pointed at Jess. I dropped it in shock.

"Oh, _mon dieu_." I breathed. "Jess, I…" My hands were shaking. "I just.. I don't like it when people touch my neck…" Now I was shivering all over.

It was clear from the expression on Jess' face that she would like nothing more than to attack me, shout and me and tear me to pieces for scaring her like that. I think _that_ was how I realised that I must look a mess, because despite the anger on her face, after a moment looking at me, she seemed more concerned than anything else.

Carmeline approached from behind me, touching my arm gently. "Well," she said softly. "That was odd."

Embarassed and humiliated, I strode over to my bed, clasping my hands together to stop the shaking, lips pursed angrily. Still kneeling on my bed, Jess put a tentative hand to my forehead. "You feel really warm, Estelle." She said softly.

"I don't feel well." I said, my accent thicker than it had been in years. "I don't think I'll go today."

Jess nodded, thankfully saying nothing. "I'll tell Pucey," she murmured. I didn't really listen. All I could hear was Bellatrix's insane laugh, all I could see were Lestrange's crazed eyes. I started shaking again.

The odd thing was that my overwhelming emotion was no longer fear. Of course, at first it had been. And clearly, I was still afraid. But now, lying in my bed with memories of my almost-death swirling around me, the emotion I felt most was frustration.

Because, even had Jess been attacking me, even if my reflexes could be that quick when I felt threatened, I was still defenceless.

Because, no matter how fast I reacted, I had no idea how I could use the wand in my hand to defend myself.

That was Umbridge's fault. And I wasn't going to stand for it any longer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N:

First up, huge thankyou to all who reviewed. i really appreciate it! Especially those who've read The Life and Times, and are happy with this as a sequel.  
>now, a message to Dazzled-Midnight-Melody:<p>

Thanks for taking the time to write that review.. you clearly put a fair amount of thought into it.  
>Now, for your questions.<p>

The ministry may or may not have on record that Lee committed suicide. Her body was found by muggle authorities, and i think i've mentioned, although i may not have, that Estelle found her wand. So they would not have had that as evidence. However, they'd possibly know that she died of a killing curse. This doesn't necessarily mean that it's public information, though. Good thought though, thanks.

Another good thought: Estelle's inheritance.  
>I'm not sure about wizarding law in this area.. I'll have to read the books again, because I've been wondering about that. She will not get the house, whether by choice or by some loophole in the law (remember- Sirius specifically left the house to Harry.. this will come up later), but I'm keeping this canon as possible, so she won't inherit it.<p>

And finally- I'm glad we think along the same lines. I won't give anything too much away, but I'm too attached to Sirius to not let him at least see Estelle once before he dies. That's all I'm saying.

Thanks to all the reviews. Each one has made me smile!


	9. Chapter 9

What I was decided to do then wasn't as stupid as it seemed.

It wasn't as though I asked Jess and Carmeline, or any of my other friends to join me in my resolution- _that_ would have been against Umbridge's trillion rules. She specifically said that no associations or clubs could be formed without her approval, and she would never have approved a club which practiced defensive skills.

And that was what I was doing- I was learning defensive material from some contraband textbooks I'd bought off a Seventh year Ravenclaw.

Perhaps, with friends around me, it might've been better. More people to practice against, and no doubt a greater repertoire of spells to choose from, particularly if I'd involved some of the older Slytherins.

But I didn't want that. First of all, one of them would tell. Slytherins are largely motivated by self preservation instincts. For me, that meant that I wanted to learn how to protect myself, but then I'd come directly into contact with violence. That wasn't the case for my classmates. So while I was able to prioritise, and understand that it is more important to protect myself from _attacks_, my classmates would only see the more immediate risk of getting in trouble with the Umbridge cow.

So of course one of them would tell. They would hardly be able to help it. It would be instinctive. And to them it would seem reasonable.

Besides that, the more people you let in on a secret, the more likely it is to spread.

I worried though, in some dark place in my mind that I _refused_ to give in to, that I wasn't doing this to be rational. I was going because I was afraid. I was afraid of Bellatrix and Lestrange. I was almost afraid of Lucius, and I was certainly not going to feel comfortable in the Manor again.

But I know that my feelings ran deeper than that, the more I thought about it, the more I realised that it wasn't fear that was driving me. It was determination to avoid fear. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to _never, ever_ feel powerless again. I wanted to push past the mental turmoil I'd been dwelling in since the attack. I wanted to be strong again. I wanted to be truly strong. At the moment, a touch could render me immobile and terrified. I had to get past that, and I could. So long as I was afraid of those escapees, it was like I was still there, pressed against the wall with strong hands wrapped around my throat. Only this time, it was in my mind, so Lucius couldn't save me. Only I could.  
>And I would.<p>

I wasn't going to be weak. I wasn't a victim- I wouldn't let myself be. It was time to climb out of the paranoid state I seemed to have sunk into. And the only way to do _that_ was through positive action.

I'd like to think that self-preservation and fear weren't my only reasons, though.

I'd like to think that I was rebelling against that bitch. That I was showing her that she couldn't govern all of us. My hand was still healing from our last round of detentions, but that just made me angrier, and more determined to prove that she would never _ever_ beat me.

Nobody knew about it. Carmeline thought I was studying. Jess thought I was chasing a mystery boy ("It's Potter, I know it is. I just want _you_ to know that when I say 'mystery boy', that's who I'm talking about. Crazy Harry Potter.") Draco and I _still_ weren't speaking. Pansy was just happy that I was gone, and Blaise couldn't care less.

It was just _me_, in whatever deserted part of the school I could find, with a candle and my wand and a book of 3rd year defensive spells. But it was better than nothing, and _nothing_ was what Umbridge was teaching us.

It wasn't organised or fancy, and she'd never even know about my refusal to toe the line. But that was never the point for me. _I_ knew, and one day I would have the courage to show Umbridge that she had no power where I was concerned. And besides, every time I learned a spell, it was like I was spitting in her face.

A wonderful feeling indeed.

…..

"Hey."

Roger Davies glanced over his shoulder, and when his eyes fixed on me, he sighed. Making excuses to his friends, he walked over to where I was standing, leaning against a pillar.

I'd found him by chance, after overhearing him talking about selling his old textbooks, which he'd brought with him to school, to pawn off before he finished. It had taken a fair amount of convincing to let him know I wasn't joking, but eventually he'd agreed to sell me the defence textbook he'd mistakenly put in with his old Potions and Transfiguration textbooks.

"What now, Dahlquist?" he drawled. "I have quidditch practice."

I scoffed. "Like I care." I snapped, and passed him a bag of coins. "Five galleons. Same as last time. But I want a _fourth_ year defence book now."

He raised his eyebrows. "Fourth year?" He asked. "I just gave you a third year one the other week." He was tossing the bag lightly in his hand, like he was weighing it. "You can't be finished it already."

I held his gaze, tossing my hair a little. "None of your business." I told him. "_Your_ business is giving me your textbooks. And I want a fourth year one. These spells are too easy! Petrificus Totalus? That has to be second year material!" I rubbed my hands together, once again grateful for the fingerless gloves I was wearing, pulled up under my robes. Draco would say I looked like a homeless person.. If we were talking.

Leaning against the pillar beside mine, Davies frowned thoughtfully. "I'd have to send home for it." He told me. "The last one happened to be in my trunk by chance, but the fourth year one is with my other Defence textbooks- under my bed. And Umbridge checks all the mail now, that's what I was told." His eyes zeroed in on me. "I'm a straight 'O' student, and quidditch captain. I saw what happened to the Gryffindor team- I'm not going to risk that for five galleons."

"Five Galleons, fifteen sickles." I offered, deadpan. "I want that book, Davies."

He ran a hand over his hair, and I was reminded forcibly of Draco. "Sorry, Dahlquist." He said, with a sheepish grin. "Just not worth the risk."

As he started to walk off, I felt myself getting angrier and angrier. Finally, as my anger reached its peak, I took the third year book at threw it at his head.

He stopped dead. "Oi!" He snarled, turning back around.

This happened more regularly than it should. Despite my _very_ active Slytherin sense of self-preservation, when I was angry, bored or happy, I just couldn't keep my mind rational. I was impulsive. I was petulant.

Once or twice I'd been thoughtlessly brave.

But more often than not, I was an idiot. Like now.

I put my hands on my hips as he strode back towards me, looking furious. "You _said_ that you'd keep me supplied." I hissed. "You _said_ you could help me."

Davies looked like he was about to punch me. "You…" he began threateningly, and then he sighed. "You have an _incredibly_ good arm." He said reluctantly. "That bloody well hurt. You've never tried quidditch?"

Boys. Do they ever talk about anything else?

"Books." I said, wrapping my arms around myself. We were outside, and it was February, so the weather was freezing. Painfully so. "You promised, Davies."

He gave a rueful shrug, still rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry. No can do, Dahlquist. I love helping out the ladies, but you're not quite worth it."

"Charming." I drawled, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

He shook his head. "Oh, I don't know. Give it a year or two and you'll be wrapping all the boys in this place around your little finger. But not yet." He considered. "Also helps if you don't throw things at them."

"I _need_ that book." I moaned. "Please!"

Sighing again, he let his hands fall by his sides. "Alright. Now, this isn't just a suggestion- it's a risk in itself, because these boys don't like Slytherins, but because you're so sweet." He sounded excessively sarcastic. "I'll help you out. The people _you_ need to get this book in for you would have to have utter disregard for the rules. They have to have experience in flouting authority. They have to be _daring_, and enjoy the thrill of troublemaking."

I nodded thoughtfully. "_Ma, oui_? Your point?"

His grin was devious. "You need Fred and George Weasley."

….

I wasn't an idiot. The Weasley boys were Gryffindor, and they wouldn't come near me with a ten foot pole. I'd seen them around the school- long, lanky and loutish. Plastered in freckles and each topped with red hair which stood on end, as though they'd recently come into contact with a live wire.

They liked to cause trouble for the hell of it.

I personally thought that they ought to come with a warning sign.

But I knew other things, too. Or worked them out through careful eavesdropping, or strategically casual remarks to the Gryffindors during Potions or Care of Magical Creatures. I was good at getting people to talk, without them knowing they were saying anything.

And so, I learned that the Weasley twins were notorious. That they were risk-takers to the core- the bigger the risk, the better. I learned that they _hated_ Umbridge, not only because she was a crazy, tyrannical cow, but because she'd banned them both from quidditch in their last year.

So they would have no problem smuggling in a book for me, especially one which undermined Umbridge's rules and teaching methods.

It got better and better.

They were clever, everybody said. Ingenious, and savvy. They got awful marks, but they were so creative that nobody was in doubt of their talents.

Better still?

They needed money. They were starting a new business.

Of course, there was still that little hitch: I was Slytherin. They would never _ever_ help me out, if they knew who I was. So I had to trick them. I had to be mysterious and manipulative- I had to get them curious enough to help me, without giving anything away.

But I'm good at being devious, and in the end it was simple.

They spell I chose only worked over a relatively close range. So one Saturday, I waited til they emerged from the Great Hall, and then tailed them until they got to the lake. After that, I left, disappointed. It was freezing, and very few people were around. They'd know it was me.

The next day I was more successful. They headed to the Library, drawing confused looks from everybody around them. They were not reputed for being studious.

Grinning, I followed them in, taking a seat in one of the couches nearby their table, trying not to look too obvious about eavesdropping.

"…. Need to work on the fireworks. How do you feel about dragons? Image of a dragon? _Breathing_ fireworks?"

The other one shrugged, pushing back off the table so the front two legs of his chair lifted off the ground. "Sounds compelling, but we can do better."

"We need more of that…. Powder. You know that's… the key…. Unknown…. Expensive… worth it." I frowned, trying to listen over the loud smooching sounds coming from behind the bookcase. As I watched, one twin picked up on the noises, too. After waggling his eyebrows at his brother, he crept over and whipped out his wand, waving it sharply.

The books flew out of their places, tumbling all over the poor, affectionate couple. Satisfied by the sound of their shocked shrieks, the twin returned to his seat.

His counterpart watched him, apparently unimpressed. "Who?" he asked simply.

Twin one grinned. "Lisa Mitchell and some Hufflepuff." And then, quick as anything, his expression turned serious. "That stuff _is_ expensive. And Mundungus is getting a little antsy. Seems to think we're using the stuff for things our mother wouldn't approve of."

Twin two cursed. "Damn it. Why is he so scared of her?"

"Like we can talk." Twin one shrugged ruefully. "the woman is terrifying. Now, we need to make a list of the quantities we need…."

Perfect. Paper. I pulled my quill out, resting a piece of parchment in between the pages of my textbook. To anyone watching, it would look like I was making notes. But I'd cast the spell earlier, and I was confident that it would work.

Slowly, carefully, I wrote:

_I have a business offer for you boys._

There was a moment of suspense, during which I chewed the end of my quill, as though lost in thought, before I heard the gasp of surprise from their table.

"What the- look at this, Fred."

Perfect. Twin One was Fred, which made Twin Two George. Fred let out a low whistle. "Who's passing notes?" he asked.

George shook his head. "Nobody. This parchment was clean. It's _my _parchment."

I wrote again. I was tempted to comment on their argument, or maybe make some witticism regarding George's attachment to the paper, but I couldn't let them know I was that close.

_-Well, boys? Are you listening?_

"Write back." Said Fred, cottoning on. "Wonderful little spell, this one. Angelina and I used it to pass notes all through Transfiguration last year."

George chuckled. "You dog." He laughed. "Bet you filthied up that parchment fairly quick between the pair of you." And then there was a pause.

I smiled as their words appeared on my parchment:

_~Listening. This had better be good. Invasion of privacy is what this is._

I replied.

_-Wouldn't get too excited. It's a smuggling job, is all. I'll give you ten galleons for you getting the item in, plus the value of the item. On completion of the job, of course_.

I heard Fred give a bark of laughter. "Oh! Say that his family must be pretty stingy if they won't even splurge to send him a postal owl."

George began to comply, and I crowed inwardly, triumphant that they thought I was a boy. Too soon.

"Not a boy, Fred." He said, sounding thoughtful. "Look at the handwriting. It's a girl. And this spell is pretty specific- she has to be within fifty metres, right?"

Fred nodded, casting a glance around the room. Keeping my face neutral, I scribbled a little in mid air over the parchment, miming writing, then paused as though lost in thought. Sensing that they were still looking at me, I frowned a little, then leant over to check another of my books. They looked past me, frowning.

"Answer her. And just stick to the deal." George said firmly.

The words appeared on my page in what must've been Fred's messy, careless scrawl.

_~Smuggling what, may we ask? Nothing to big, is it? Nothing that bites?_

-_Do you know of many books that bite?_

I wrote back, trying not to laugh.

Fred and George were less lucky over on the other table. "Monster Book of Monsters." One of them chuckled, and then:

~_Clearly you didn't take Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid two years back. That makes you a third year at most._

I resisted the urge to hiss in annoyance.

_-Who I am isn't important. I need your copy of the fourth year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. _

I heard annoyed mutters from them, before they wrote back:

_~Haven't you heard of Flourish and Blotts?_

Sighing, I wrote.

_-I don't want the official 'Umbridge approved' textbook. I want _your_ textbook- one where I'll actually learn things. _

"Guess that explains the smuggling deal." George said thoughtfully.

"Umbridge would murder anybody who tried to bring that in." Fred replied.

There was a moment's pause, and I watched them from under my eyelashes as they met each other's gaze, clearly enjoying some form of silent communication, as they considered my proposition.

And then. "Meh." They both shrugged, clearly unconcerned by the threat of impending doom, then Fred leaned back to the parchment.

_~Alright, missy._ He wrote. _How are you planning on working this?_

…..

I received the book by dinner the next day, pulling it from behind the third suit of armour on the left, up on the third floor corridor. It was wedged beneath the knight's podium, and the bag of coins I'd left (charmed to look like a pair of frilly knickers) were gone.

It didn't look like a textbook. It was titled _"Broomsticks and Blunderbusses"_ _._ On the cover, a rather unrealistically busty woman was swooning in the arms of an unrealistically muscled man, who had- yes- a blunderbuss strapped to his back.

Grinning, I flipped it over. _"Accio, tissuebox- Florinda the unlucky-in-love witch is back with another heart-wrenching tale of love and betrayal…"_

Opening the front cover, I saw a realistic illustration of Florinda embracing her blunderbuss-wielding suitor. Just underneath the moving picture, somebody had scrawled.

_-With Compliments, and best wishes for your future endeavours- The Wealseys._

That was nice. Into the frilly undies I'd left for them, I'd sewn. "Property of Fred/ George Weasley"

I tucked the book into my satchel, and ran to the Great Hall.

I was so excited- already feeling safer with the book in my arms- that I was paying no attention to where I was going, and careened straight into…

"Wow. Girls really have no shame these days- just _throwing_ themselves at people." Whichever twin it was- lets say Fred- let the grin fall off his face as he took in just who had run into him. "Ah." He said, sounding disgusted. "Mini Malfoy. Off to get a new tattoo, are you?"

I frowned, pushing my hair out of my eyes. "It's _Dahlquist_. And you are…. Weasley number 25? Honestly, haven't you people heard of _birth control_?"

'Fred' steadied me, and then let go as quickly as possible. "Why don't you run along to Malfoy." He said sweetly. "I'm sure he has some cousin he's just _dying_ to marry you off to."

I glanced down, and couldn't hide a smile. The frilly undies were hanging out of his pocket. "Nice panties." I said with a smirk.

He flushed. "Returning them to my girlfriend." He muttered.

"They've got your name on them." I taunted, and he scowled.

"Bugger off." He snapped. "Go run along and play with some nice, respectable, inbred _pureblood_ kiddies."

And then he stormed off. I felt a little tug of regret. I quite liked the twins, despite their horrid family, and raucousness. And they'd seemed to like me, too. Over parchment, we'd had a nice long conversation, all the while with me sitting less than five metres away. But that little fantasy melted away the second we came face to face.

They didn't like me. They never would.

Shaking off that realisation- what did it matter?- I continued on my way to the Great Hall.

When she saw me, Jess shuffled down, nodding in greeting. "Where'd you go after Transfiguration?" she asked, sounding barely awake. "You missed the _funniest_ thing. Belinda had _another_ row with Blaise!"

Carmeline rolled her eyes from Jess' other side. "When will they learn?" she asked tiredly. "None of them have any claim to him. It's getting tedious."

Jess disagreed. "It's wild. I loved it."

"You are so easily entertained, Osyth." Jess started in shock, as Draco smirked at her, lowering himself into the seats opposite us, with Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise in tow.

Jess glanced at me. She and Carmeline hadn't been speaking to Draco and his friends (on my behalf) since holidays. They had no idea what we'd fought about, just that we'd fought, but the unspoken loyalty of friends had kicked in automatically. Now, I sighed.

"Oh, go on." I drawled. "This has gone on for too long, anyway." I met Draco's eyes. "Pass me the salt."

As though nothing had happened, he looked exasperated. "Estelle, your food has _plenty_ of salt." He told me sternly.

I shrugged. "The English have never known how to use salt." I said, with a posh sniff. "They use it _far_ too lightly."

For perhaps twenty minutes, the conversation trundled along, and it was almost as though nothing had happened, nothing had gone wrong. But inevitably, something went wrong.

"Alright, if nobody's going to say it, _I'll_ say it." Jess laid her cutlery down and looked around at us. "The Quibbler article. What do we think?"

It was the talk of the school: Harry Potter had published an article describing _his_ version of the events of the last task in the TriWizard Tournament. The whole lot- You Know Who coming back, that Diggory boy dying… it was a scandal.

It was a sensation. People were already searching for an explanation for the Azkaban breakout- for the first time, Potter's was put forward for serious consideration.

"Bollocks." Blaise said with a sniff. "It was in the _Quibbler_, for crying out loud."

Draco nodded, not meeting anybody's eyes. "Absolute rubbish. But it's _Potter_- of _course_ it's rubbish." his eyes met mine. "Nobody should read it. It's just going to cause more trouble. And it's all malicious _lies_." Wow. Vicious. I concentrated on buttering my toast.

"He's just trying to get attention." Pansy smirked, fluffing her hair and pouting into her compact mirror. "He's a sad, pathetic little idiot. Who does he think he is? Does he _really_ expect people to believe that he fought off the Dark Lord?"

I felt the need to interject. "He did when he was a baby." I pointed out, ignoring the feel of Draco's eyes boring into me.

Pansy rolled her eyes, as though I were being incredibly stupid. "That was _different._" She said, patronisingly. "He was a_ baby_ then."

There was a moment of silence before I suggested. "So, presumably he'd be _more_ powerful now, or…?"

"Don't bait Pansy." Draco ordered casually. I stabbed a sausage on my plate and pretended it was his face. "Potter is a liar. Nothing he says is ever true." He sounded even more vicious than normal- I wondered absently what the article had said, before deciding that it didn't matter. And I wouldn't be asking Draco any time soon. Just because we were talking now didn't mean we were ready to _talk_.

Carmeline nodded in agreement. "_And_ he was talking to that Skeeter woman." She pointed out. "Last year he _hated _her, and denied everything she said. So what's changed?" There was a murmur of agreement, and then Carmeline said, tentatively. "Although…."

"Although what?" Pansy simpered.

Carmeline shrugged. "It isn't much- just… has anybody else noticed their parents acting a little differently, lately?" There was silence around the table, and with a sigh, Carmeline elaborated. "My mum always writes me these long letters. She tells me everything she and father are doing." Carmeline paused, and then said cautiously. "Except that lately, just this year, but it's been getting steadily worse, it's like her letters are being censored. She tells me nothing! And father was gone for most of the holidays. Never said where, though."

Jess nodded. "Estelle said Lucius was gone, too." I froze, only able to imagine the look on Draco's face, and Jess smiled encouragingly at me. "Yeah, you wrote me that letter in first week- said that you hadn't seen him yet. When _did_ he show up again?"

I couldn't see any way out of this. Thankfully, Draco answered for me. "Christmas." He said shortly. "It was just a work trip. But we shouldn't even-"

"That's what _my_ father said." Carmeline butted in. "It was a 'work trip'. He only got back on Christmas Eve. But they never tell me anything. Crabbe? Goyle? Blaise?"

Absently, I raked my hair into a loose plait over my shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling that Blaise was watching me. When I looked up, I met his eyes, and he said. "My mother was at home. _All_ holidays."

Pansy pouted. "I never know where my parents are." She said dismissively. "But it doesn't matter, does it? I mean, the Prophet _said_ who was behind the breakout." We all waited expectantly, and she sighed. "Sirius Black? He was breaking his cousin free. That woman with the awful split ends."

"That's your aunt, isn't it, Draco?" Jess leaned forwards, curious. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

Draco dropped his fork with a clatter, and with effort, I kept my face blank. "Hmmn? What's that, Draco? Who?"

Jess turned to me, looking fairly innocent of the trouble she was causing. "Bellatrix Lestrange. She used to be Bellatrix Black- like Draco's mum, right? She was a Black."

"How do you know this?" I asked, amused as I managed to rope in the sinking feeling in my chest.

She shrugged. "Mother likes me to take a vested interest in the old families. You know." She rolled her eyes. "Potential husbands and all that tosh. So I know most everybody who is related to everybody, including those related to people in the breakout."

"Black…" Carmeline murmured. "Of course! She has those eyes- you know.. All the Blacks are supposed to have grey eyes."

"Like Sirius Black." Jess supplied. "And his dead brother- Regulus." she sniffed. "Mother says it's a pity Regulus died and didn't have children."

"You're all bizarre." I laughed. "How on earth do you know these things? Why do you care?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange has them, too." Carmeline continued, ignoring me. "Does your mother, Draco? Have grey eyes, I mean."

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hers are more blue." He answered.

I considered everything that they were saying, and about then, something occurred to me- _Look at those eyes…_ I waited until after dinner to ask.

"Draco." I called, as he was moving off with Pansy, no doubt finding a broom closet to go and 'cuddle' in for a while.

He met my gaze with a smile. "Estelle." He said, and I realised that he'd missed me. A lot. Pansy seemed less accommodating. She gave a massive sigh and collapsed against a nearby wall, tapping her foot impatiently. "What can I do for you."

I tried to smile back at him, but I was feeling too pensive. "Just a question." I said carefully. "About what Carmeline and Jess said at dinner." Instantly, he looked defensive. Undaunted, I pressed on. "I was thinking. I've got grey eyes. You know, like Carmeline said the Blacks have."

"Lots of people have grey eyes." Draco said dismissively.

I nodded in agreement, but pushed forwards. "Yeah. True." And then. "Am I related to _Narcissa_, not Lucius. I thought I was related to Lucius, but…."

"I don't know, Estelle." Draco said quickly. "Does it matter?"

"A bit." I said diplomatically. "I didn't know my mother was related to you. Nobody ever _talks_ about her, and I must've gotten the eyes from somewhere." It was then that something occurred to me. "You don't think my _father_…."

"I've told you, Estelle." Draco said sharply. "Nobody know who your father was, but he definitely wasn't somebody from _our_ circle." He frowned. "Now, stop asking questions! I have to go with Pansy, but…"

I could feel myself getting angrier again. "Don't worry. It's fine." I said pertly, and turned on my heel.

"Estelle.." Draco called after me. "Estelle, _don't_ be angry… Estelle!" But I was gone.

Off to the fifth floor corridor, where there was a sweet little hallway that nobody knew.

Off to burn off some steam.

Off to practice.

…

"Estelle?"

I whipped around, wand still raised, fearing the worst.

"Potter." I sighed, lowering my wand, "what are you doing, creeping around the corridors at night?"

I hadn't talked to him since he'd told me we were friends. Now, I wasn't sure _how_ to act. Or how he would act.

But he just smiled, "could ask you the same thing," he pointed out, then nodded at my wand, "only it's pretty obvious that you're practicing."

Oh. No.

I laughed derisively, "don't be an idiot," I said, sounding as scathing as I could, "practicing for what? It's not like I have OWLs."

He shrugged, hands in pockets, but I could tell he was feeling self-satisfied, "maybe you read a certain article in the Quibbler, and you realised the need for decent protection." He suggested.

I rolled my eyes, stuffing my wand into the waistband of my jeans, "oh yeah," I agreed sarcastically, "because I spend my every waking minute just _pouring_ over the Quibbler- it's where I go for life advice. I saw your article made front page?" I grinned "pretty impressive considering that there was also a story on how the Weird Sisters are at the root of a conspiracy to overthrow the Nigerian government using a form of mind control based on the lunar cycles and a flamingo army."

Rather than look annoyed, he smiled, "yeah, that was pretty big news, too. I was shocked. I mean, I _like_ the Weird Sisters." He shrugged, "celebrities… you never can tell."

I shot him my best contemptuous look, but he just smiled fondly, like he'd seen something familiar to him, like the expression was something he saw pretty regularly. I stared at him a little longer, and he chuckled. "Sorry," he said, "it's just that- when you do that- you look a lot like my godfather."

What? "Your _godfather_?" I asked contemptuously, and he quickly changed the subject.

"So really, why are you practicing?"

Persistence

That can be an annoying quality in a person.

I weighed up my options- either I continued to argue with Potter (tedious) or I just admitted it…..

"I just- don't agree with Umbridge's methods." I began. He looked expectant still. I sighed, "plus I recently…. Came across somebody…. Who made me realise how dangerous people can be." I shuddered at the memory, closing my eyes. After a long moment, I opened them, staring back at him, "I realised that I don't ever want to not be prepared. I want to be able to fight, if I need to."

Potter was silent for a moment, just watching me. Then he smiled, "that's a pretty good answer," he told me, "but, you know- you're holding your wand wrong. For a stunning spell, that is." I gaped, and he raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry- were you doing a stunning spell? I thought- but I'm just assuming….."

I had two choices, once again: I could tell him he was an idiot, that I'd been practicing something else, and he should bugger off- or I could ask him for help.

Before I knew what I was doing, I blurted out, "so how are you supposed to hold the wand?"

He blinked a few times, evidently surprised. And then he smiled, "loosely. You're holding it too firmly, which is good for, say, a shield spell, because you want to give it a firm base, but with a stunning spell….." there was a new look on his face- something confident and strong. He stepped over the fallen chair and pried my wand from my hands.

I _had_ been holding it tightly.

He smiled at me, "see you're trying to send that energy _away_ from you, and at somebody else- so you don't want to give it a firm base to cling to, or it won't- you know, _go_ so much."

He demonstrated, holding the wand loosely in his hand, waving it with one fluid motion.

That made a surprising amount of sense. I took the wand, mimicking his hand action. He nodded approvingly, but now that I knew the principle behind the spell, I thought of something else.

"Stupefy," I said Boredly, adding a sharp flick to my wrist as I spoke the spell- almost as though I was shaking the power off of my wand.

The chair flew through the air, crashing into the far wall. Potter gave a low whistle, "what did you just do?"

I shrugged, "flicked my wrist." I told him, "so I could throw the energy even further."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, "yeah, that makes quite a bit of sense."

"Don't you steal it!" I warned him, jokingly, "that can be my signature move."

He smiled, but I could tell he was still thinking about it. As he gazed at the chair, one of which's legs had snapped off, he rubbed absently at his forehead- where the fabled scar resided.

He looked so old in that moment, and it took me a second to realise why. It was the look of concern on his face- so unusual to find in a 15 year old. It was as though he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

At that moment, he looked up, meeting my gaze with confusion. "What?" he asked mildly. "What are you staring at?"

I shrugged. A more tactful person might've made an excuse, but immediately I said. "You look old, Potter. Really ancient." His brow furrowed and I sighed, pulling a pack of fags out of my pocket. As I shoved one between my lips, I muttered. "Maybe you should cut back on the unhealthy living."

"Says the girl with the cigarette dangling out of her mouth." He snorted. "You really shouldn't smoke, you know. It's bad for you."

I waved a hand at him dismissively, and lit the fag with the tip of my wand. "So they say." I enunciated around the cigarette. As if from a dream, I heard my mother's voice whisper _'don't be rude- offer him one_'. Almost automatically, I held out the packet. "Want one?"

Potter took one tentatively, a look of intense suspicion on his face. He held it between two fingers, gingerly flipping it around. "I-uh- I don't really smoke."

I took a long drag. "Just breath deeply." I told him, closing my eyes.

His coughing fit lasted a painfully long time. As he sputtered, I laughed softly, not bothering to open my eyes.

"Why is this funny?" Potter coughed out.

I shrugged, still smiling, and blew a casual smoke ring. "Oh, just, you know. The whole 'Boy Who Lived" legacy, is all." He waited, looking a little defensive. I grinned. "The Gryffindors say that you killed a basilisk, and a sixth year told me that you once battled an army of giant spiders. There's this vague story about you flying a car into school, and they say that you beat up trolls in your spare time. Plus the whole 'tri-wizard tournament'. And your crowning achievement- surviving a duel with the Nameless Wonder aged 1 year old."

"Your point?"

I took another drag, still grinning. "Clearly," I said. "Your nemeses should have just offered you a cigarette."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: So great to get four new reviews for the last chapter- keep them coming! And I am so sorry this took so long to upload. I actually uploaded it the same day as my last update, but somehow it didn't go through. So here's take two.

As you can see, I've included interaction with a couple of other established characters. Again, if you have anybody else you want to hear from, or see through Estelle's point of view, then just let me know.

Also- I've made the Slytherin kids a little unsure of what's going on, war wise. This will change in Harry's sixth year, I'm taking my cues there from Draco. But for now, i don't think that the Death Eaters would've entrusted their kids with that kind of information, at least until there was more power behind them.

And, after realising that Estelle came across as a little too obtuse when it came to Bellatrix, I've included her having an epiphany. But she doesn't really know much about the old families- she does _not _suspect that Sirius is her father. He's just a name.

That's it- and thanks again.


	10. Chapter 10

School went past in a blur after that. March seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and in the same way that it had been for the past year.

Trelawney was fired. Perhaps that was the most significant thing to happen.

It happened in a bit of a blur. I'd love to say that, when I saw Trelawney at the top of the stairs, wailing like a banshee and clutching an old carpet bag, I felt the stirrings of empathy.

But I don't lie when I can help it.

I laughed. That's the truth. Trelawney and me have never seen eye to eye in any sense of the expression. Halfway through my first lesson, she'd predicted my death, and told me that it would be as a result of my father's recklessness. I had no father, and so I'd called her a fraud and broken her favourite teapot.

Since then, my divination classes consisted of her predicting more and more elaborate deaths for me, and me predicting more and more elaborate deaths for her. In my final lesson, she'd told me that I'd die after being bewitched to swallow an entire python. I'd told her that she'd be clubbed to death by the ghosts of her broken china collection.

I realise now that this recount hardly seems consistent with my image as a 'model student'. Neither does my relationship with Umbridge. But I hated frauds- that's all. Frauds and Snape.

Which was why I, along with the other Slytherins, was not sorry to see a grown woman weeping like a four year old and cradling an empty bottle of sherry in her arms like a baby. It was uncomfortably pathetic, but somewhat satisfying nonetheless, to see her downfall.

I noticed that many students were reacting the same way. The Slytherins were all overjoyed, and if some of the Gryffindor girls seemed distressed, more seemed simply uncomfortable with Trelawney's over-the-top theatrics.

Potter surprised me. He looked grimly satisfied, and I wondered why he was pleased with this new show of power from Umbridge.

Half way through the show, I felt Draco by my side.

"Happy?" he asked. "I know you hate her."

It was the first time we'd spoken since the discussion about the Black family. He'd been ignoring me for over a week, and I couldn't quite work out why he was so angry lately. Surely my question hadn't upset him _that_ much, especially if I'd been wrong, and my father was, like everybody at Beauxbatons had claimed, some muggle nobody.

But Draco was furious, nonetheless. Not only with me, but with everybody. I'd never seen him so jumpy and distracted, either.

So I was glad he was speaking to me now. Because he needed to speak to _somebody_, even if it was about the least significant of topics.

"Because she's a fool." I said, bringing us back to the conversation. " And I don't _hate_ her- I just wonder why Dumbledore _hired_ her."

Draco looked askance at me. "The man has a history of that, Estelle."

The corner of my mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. "A history of hiring hysterical, middle aged drunks?"

As I spoke, Trelawney let out a particularly loud wail, and Macgonnagal, her good Samaritan, shouted something angrily at a smug looking Umbridge.

"A history of hiring incompetent oafs." Draco corrected, sounding harsher than he meant to. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "Think of Hagrid. I told you how that beast of his…."

"Mauled your arm? I _know_." I grinned. "I like that story- savage, renegade hippogriff prowling the forest of Hogwarts." I glanced around. "Where's Pansy, Drake?"

He shrugged. "Talking to Blaise." He said easily. "Sometimes I think we share her. Neither of us really minds, though."

I laughed. "_Very_ mature." I said, and then my eyes snagged on Dumbledore, who'd just emerged. "Hello- _now_ we'll see a showdown."

I clapped my hands excitedly. And Draco hissed, annoyed by my childishness. And then the hiss turned furious.

"What _is_ that?" He asked, pointing at my hand as though it were offensive. I glanced down at it.

"Um. My hand?"

"_On_ your hand, Estelle." He snapped. "Don't be dense- is that a scar?"

I shrugged, twisting my hand from side to side in the dim light from the hall. You could just make out the spindly white lines, if you looked closely. "Sort of, I suppose. Look- Dumbledore's telling Umbridge what's what."

Draco frowned. "What does it- oh!" Impatient, he grasped my hand and peered at it. I sighed, letting him manhandle me in the hopes that he'd eventually leave me alone and let me watch the drama unfolding before us. "'I know nothing'?" He read, aghast. "Estelle, this is in your handwriting."

"It's healing, Draco." I told him tiredly. "It'll be gone soon enough. I promise."

Pumped up full of new knowledge about the subject, I had continued to act out in Umbridge's classroom. Finally, the message she'd been having me carve into my hand had began to scar. 'I know nothing'. It was just _insulting_, so far as lines go. Jess had told me that one of the Gryffindor 7th years had been put in detention after mouthing off about exploding snap. I had to wonder how well lines about _that_ would fit on his hand.

Mine was insulting, and read more like a sad, self-pitying confession, but at least it wasn't something like 'I must be Punctual'.

Draco opened his mouth to reply, a look of fury on his face, when all of a sudden, we recognised the sound of Pansy shrieking. That was enough to distract us both, and draw our gazes back to where Umbridge stood, looking like she was about to projectile vomit all over Dumbledore.

Only then did we think to look at the huge Entrance.

The doors were thrown open wide, revealing the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. And while Care of Magical Creatures had hardly been my forte, I knew enough to recognise that it was a centaur.

A beautiful centaur, with the body of a palomino horse and platinum hair, to match Draco's own.

I couldn't help but smile as I glanced at them both. "Maybe that's another of your cousins, Draco." I whispered, nodding towards his hair. "Possibly one of those scandalous ones, with iffy blood status?"

He pursed his lips and didn't answer me, pretending instead to be focused entirely on the conversation between Dumbledore and Umbridge. But I'd already cottoned on. "I think that's Trelawney's replacement." At that, Draco couldn't help but glance at me again. I shrugged. "Or her boyfriend- it has to be one of the two, judging by his timing."

Draco sniffed. "Boyfriend, please." He said, tone clipped. "I wouldn't want _that_ teaching me anything."

I tilted my head to the side thoughtfully. "Consider the alternative- little centaurs with thick glasses and ridiculous shawls." Draco smiled before he could stop himself. "Personally, I hope he's a teacher."

…..

Other people were less happy with the idea of a centaur professor.

"He might trample us!" Pansy was complaining the next morning. "I mean, I used to _get_ horse riding lessons… and now I'm being taught divination by a pony."

I pushed my scrambled eggs around on my plate, not at all hungry. "I'd like to see what Firenze would do if you tried to ride _him_ around."

Blaise chuckled as he dumped his books next to me and slid into a seat. "Pansy firmly believes that _everybody_ wants to ride her. And for the most part, they have."

Pansy scowled. By my side, Jess shot Blaise a smile. She found little in life more appealing than a boy who was mean to girls.. Girls who weren't her, that is.

"Shut up." Draco said, annoyed. "Anyway, we'll know soon enough. We've all got lessons today, don't we?"

"I don't." I kicked my feet up onto the table. "I dropped divination straight away. Ask me about the Arthimancy professor."

"_I_ have divination." Carmeline said, and Jess nodded.

And then suddenly, my feet were shoved back under the table, and my posture became ramrod straight. I looked up at the teacher's table sulkily. Snape was watching me with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction on his face. Yes- it was him.

"We need to have some humour in our day." Jess agreed, as I defiantly hitched one leg across the bench so that I was straddling it. "And Trelawney is _always_ good for a laugh." She frowned as she considered this. "Okay, not sure if it'll still be funny, but it _will_ be great to be taught by a shirtless horse-man."

Even Pansy had to give that some thought. "He _does_ have good abs." And then she snapped out of it. "But that's like perving on a gorilla."

I couldn't help but smile. "Oh, I'd rather check out the centaur than Crabbe."

Draco shot me a look as Crabbe shifted uncomfortably. Draco knew that I liked to make digs at Crabbe and Goyle, just to see how far I could push them, to see when they'd say something back. It annoyed him.

And they never took the bait anyway.

"Well, I have Divination first up." Jess said. "And it _isn't_ in the North tower… Black Beauty can't manage the stairs."

I glanced up at her, wondering if anybody else had noticed her slip up. Black Beauty was a classic children's book. I remembered snuggling up with my mother, turning the pages and looking at the illustrations as she read.

But my mother was pretending to be a muggle. Jess' family was pureblood for six generations back- how did she know that reference? Around us, the conversation had progressed- Jess hadn't even noticed her own slip-up. She was tucking into her bacon and eggs without a care in the world.

About that time, I felt Blaise's eyes on me, and carefully plastered a droll smile on my face as my friends kept discussing Divination, and the decrees, and Potter….

"… Milicent saw Flitwick giving him a box of candy the other day!" Pansy was hissing, scandalised. "It's _so_ inappropriate."

"What do you think he did _that_ for?" Draco asked, leaning forwards, as per usual, drooling for new Potter slander.

Pansy shrugged. "Millie didn't say. But who knows? I wouldn't be surprised if there was something… _odd_ going on there."

I didn't need to cut her down. Tracey did that for her. "Oh, Pansy- you _are_ ridiculous." Exactly. Flitwick being inappropriate? Never. "Who would be attracted to _Potter_?"

Alright- maybe she wasn't as mature and logical as I'd assumed.

Tracey Davis is nobody important. She shares Pansy's dorm and shallow personality. Pretty, but slightly vapid, she still manages to be a bitch when she wants to be. And she's got a shrewd sort of cleverness to her, as well. She's a politician in the making.

"Cho Chang is attracted to him." Pansy pointed out, her nose crinkled in disgust. "But she's a quidditch player.. It's possible that she's just been hit in the head too many times."

"Hit in the head?" Davis asked, hand over her mouth. "With what?"

Now Draco looked annoyed. "A quaffle, Tracy." He said slowly. "or a bludger. Doesn't your boyfriend play quidditch?"

She waved her hand. "Oh, yes." She sniffed, tossing her hair. "He does something like that." Then her gaze fell on me, and she blinked twice, as if taken aback. "Wow, Estelle." She said with a sniff. "You look like a drunk toddler did your hair this morning."

I sighed. "I _do_ miss you so much when you don't sit with us, Davis." I said tiredly. "Do I really look like that?"

Tracy nodded primly. "Yes. I should know." And she happily flicked her perfectly straight hair over one shoulder.

"So you've had a lot of experience with drunk toddlers doing your hair, then?" I asked, deadpan.

Pansy would've sneered, confused, and given me the finger. Tracy was cleverer. She just rolled her eyes, as though I'd said something droll, and then changed the subject back. "In any case, Potter isn't _un_attractive- that in itself might make him interesting. He's just so obviously boring and mediocre. _That_ is why he feels the need to compulsively lie- he's a hopelessly average nobody trying to convince the world that he's significant."

"And _that's_ why he did the article." Pansy said. Draco slammed his goblet down on the table, and Crabbe and Goyle glowered.

"I'm going to class." Draco announced, sneering as he always did when he felt uncomfortable. "You can come along. Or you can stay here." And then, without any further ado, he stormed off so fast that Crabbe and Goyle had to do their odd, shuffling little run to catch up with him.

That seemed like an overreaction. "He's a little tetchy lately." I mused, and Pansy shot me a look of deepest hate. And then, to my surprise, she sighed.

"It's _my_ fault." She said thoughtfully. "I shouldn't have brought up the article. He _hates_ that."

I hadn't spoken to Draco about the article. I certainly hadn't realised that it affected him so much. "Why?" I asked innocently. "All things Potter related annoy Draco- why worry about that one in particular?"

It was Tracy's turn to glare at me, but even Jess and Carmeline looked shocked. "Have you _read_ the article, Estelle?" Tracy asked sweetly.

I shook my head. "No. You know me- rules are sacred in my book. Wouldn't want to get on Umbridge's bad side."

Nobody smiled.

"I can't believe you haven't read it." Jess was saying, slowly. "Really? You haven't read it at all?"

I shrugged. "I saw no need to. Everybody knows Potter's version of events. And nobody mentioned it, so I assumed that it wasn't such a big deal."

Carmeline shot me a sad smile. "Oh, Elle." She said, and her use of my nickname made me pause. "We were being _sensitive. _That's why we didn't mention it- we didn't want to upset you."

I looked around at their faces- Carmeline and Jess looking sympathetic, Pansy and Tracy looking scornful. "What?" I asked cautiously.

"I cannot _believe_ that you don't know." Tracy said abruptly, throwing her hands in the air. "Potter named Draco's dad as a _death eater_. Says he's in league with You Know Who."

Perhaps it was because I'd been avoiding thinking about it. Perhaps it was because I was an idiot. Perhaps it was because I didn't want to know. Perhaps I hadn't wanted to believe that he was back. Whatever the reason, I'd never _really_ made the connection between the breakout- and Lucius' part in it- and You Know Who.

"Potter says that Mr Malfoy was there when You Know Who came back." Jess was saying sympathetically. "But the whole world _has_ to know it's all bull. I mean, You Know Who isn't back- nobody's seen him."

That was true- I hadn't seen him. But did that matter? Even if only half of Potter's story was true, Lucius had still freed those people, those clearly insane people. He wasn't a good man, I'd always sort of known that, and especially recently.

But at the same time, it didn't seem right, or true, that he could ever be bad. I could still remember him tucking me into bed, that first day we'd met, when my mother was cold in the ground.

"Sleep well." He'd said, matter-of-factly. "I'm in the next room, should you need me." I think he'd meant, if I'd needed a glass of water, or a snack. But I'd gotten scared and tiptoed into the room – his study – and he'd not complained once. He'd just looked at me for a moment, then pulled me up to sit on his lap while he'd finished his paperwork.

"Don't grow up, Estelle." He'd said, tone no different that it was when he spoke to adults. "Everything is so much more complicated when you're an adult."

And when I'd moved to England, an awkward, prepubescent witch, he'd been there for me. Not in any big way, but on my first night, when I'd slept in the manor, he'd come and knocked on the door to my room. I'd been lying awake, crying silently, but he hadn't opened the door. Instead, he'd just called. "I'm next door, if you want to come in for a nightcap.

And I'd sat in one of the armchairs, because I was too old to sit on his lap, and he'd given me my first sip of firewhiskey, and I'd coughed and spluttered, and he's smiled coolly and said, "so you're still not grown up? That's good, Estelle. That's good."

He'd never been warm, or kind, or particularly loving, but he was all the father I'd ever known, and he cared for me, in his way.

It was difficult to reconcile that with the idea of a bad man.

…..

It didn't take me long to chase down Draco. I caught him between Transfiguration and Herbology.

"Is it true?"

He stopped, standing stock still, and waited for me to elaborate. I obliged. "Is it true about Uncle Lucius?"

Draco didn't face me. "Does it matter, Estelle?" he snapped. "Everybody _thinks_ it's true." His voice sounded thick, and I wondered, perturbed, whether or not he was crying. Tentatively, I reached out a hand to his shoulder. "_Don't_ touch me!" He hissed, and I withdrew my hand. "You _hate_ him, remember? You hate him now, so there's been nobody I could talk to! I'm so worried about him, Elle, and you just weren't there to help me."

I felt ashamed. "I'm sorry, Drake." I whispered. "I forgot… he's been so cold to me lately. And.. and Christmas was the last straw. How could he _treat_ me like that, Drake?"

Now Draco looked at me, and his eyes were furious. "It isn't always _about_ you, is it? Think of Greg and Vincent- think of _Theo_." He strode a little closer to me, his eyes desperate. "Think of _me_, think of mother."

I blanched- three families, so far. If anybody took this article seriously, three families would be ripped apart, and their livlihoods destroyed.

Draco waited, to see the understanding sink into me.

And then he stormed off, as though I hadn't seen the tears in his eyes.

That made me even angrier.

So naturally, I sought out the one person I could logically blame for all of this.

…..

"I can't _believe_ that you would do that." I hissed at Potter, and his face turned a little red.

I'd found him on the seventh floor, heading somewhere with a happy look on his face. If there was _anything_ that he might've done to make me angrier, it was smile like that. He'd even smiled when he'd seen me… at first. And then, as he'd registered my death glare, and the way my fists were already clenched, that smile had faltered.

"Did what?"

I faced him, hands on hips. "I can't believe that you named my _uncle_ a death eater! That's all in the past- why would you _do_ that?"

Potter just looked at me steadily, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses. "What were you scared of, that made you want to practice defending yourself?"

I blinked. "What?"

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "In the holidays. When we met the other night, you said something had happened to make you afraid. And you were at Malfoy Manor for Christmas, weren't you. So what happened?"

I flushed. "That isn't any of your business!"

Now he looked even more exasperated. As I watched, he sighed again, buried his hands in his pockets and leaned thoughtfully against the wall behind him. "I don't understand- did you only just read the article…?"

"I haven't read it at all." I confessed. "And I only _just_ talked to Draco. He's furious."

Potter looked positively impish in his glee. "Oh, I know." He said. "I saw him. And Crabbe and Goyle."

"They're devastated, too… I think." I told him, somewhat lamely. But it was so difficult to tell what they thought- they so rarely said anything comprehensible. "And poor Theo, who never hurt anybody." I glared at him. "Theo's mum is dead- his father's all he has, and now you're accusing him." Potter looked supremely unconcerned. "Do you realise that you're putting whole families into a frenzy- they're panicking. Because of _you_."

Potter looked completely incredulous. "Are you defending them?" he demanded. "Are you actually _defending_ death eaters?"

I was appalled. "No!" I snapped. "I'm- I'm defending my _friends_."

"You're defending your friends' death eater parents." Potter told me, sounding a little cold.

I sighed, suddenly supremely tired. "This is all so hard." I said, letting my head fall into my hands. "Why is this all so hard?" Potter said nothing, so I continued. "Because they _are_ my friends, you know. Theo helps me with potions, sometimes. And Drake… he's like my brother."

Potter strolled over to stand next to me, and I could just tell that he wanted to put a hand on my shoulder. But he didn't, and I was grateful for that. "I guess you just have to work out what's more important to you." He said thoughtfully. "Your friends or your morals."

I thought it was odd that he didn't even consider- didn't even think to ask- whether I agreed with Lucius, or Mr Goyle, or Mr Crabbe, or any of those. He just assumed that I wasn't a death-eater, that I disagreed with their ethos.

It was lovely that he had that faith in me. And I knew that he was right to. But at the same time, he'd presented me with an awful choice- Family or morals?

I heard him sigh beside me. "Look- I have somewhere to be." He said, sounding a little preoccupied. I nodded absently. But he didn't leave. "Do you.." He paused, and I wondered what his question would be. "Do you… _believe_ the article?"

I considered, shooting him a thoughtful look. As always, his eyes were so earnest and hopeful that I couldn't help but smile. "I don't believe that you'd ever lie." I told him firmly. "But that doesn't mean that I like what you said."

He kept looking at me, very steadily, and then sighed. "I really do have to leave." He said regretfully. "People are waiting for me. But- Estelle- I know this has got to be hard for you. Just… know that I'm sure you'll make the right choice. When you have to."

There it was again- that faith. How did he know me well enough to have that faith in me. This time I didn't smile, or nod, or do anything at all except stare at him, wondering why he believed in me when I'd never given him any reason to. But he seemed to sense the 'goodbye' in my gaze, and with a halfhearted wave of his hand, he was off, jogging off down the seventh floor corridor.

I didn't move.

Not for ages.

Not until I heard Daphne Greengrass' voice squealing at me. "Estelle!" I looked at her. Like all the Greengrass girls, she was pretty, with long, caramel coloured hair and blue eyes. "Is this where you are?"

I considered her question. "Probably." I answered, mock thoughtfully.

She pursed her lips. "Draco's been going mental. Now, I need you to go back to common room and distract Astoria for me, please."

What? "Your little sister?" I asked, confused. "Why?"

Daphne primped. "Oh, I'm doing a special job for Umbridge tonight." She told me. "Only a _few_ of us- the 'elite' you might say." Oh, I was so hurt. Daphne began to count those involved off on her fingers. "It's Crabbe, Goyle, Millie, Pansy, Warrington, and Montague, and Draco, of course…. I can't remember who else." She shot me a winning smile. "It's top secret."

I sighed. "Lucky you haven't told anybody then, isn't it."

Again, her lips pursed. And then she sighed. "Look, could you just go look after Astoria- you know she loves to tag along with me, but there might be a bit of duelling, and well, she isn't exactly _competent_ yet."

That was an understatement.

"Okay," I said, thinking of how sweet little Astoria was. Even though she was just a year younger than me, she seemed like a child still. "What are you guys doing, anyway."

The gleam in her eyes was devious as she looked at me and said:

"Tonight? We're taking care of a little problem. A little 'rebel alliance', if you will. A sort of… unofficial army."

xxxxxxxx

A/N: two updates close together, to apologise for my failure last week. You know the drill- read and review, pretty please!  
>Also- please tell me you know what all those Slytherins are up to with Umbridge...<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

Feeling like a martyr, I trooped down the stairs to the dungeons, considering what Daphne had told me.

An army, she'd said- a 'rebel alliance'. Rebelling against… whom?  
>Umbridge, presumably, seeing as she'd organised the squad of Slytherins. It wasn't as though she would help protect Dumbledore or anybody else from an army heading to kill them- she was entirely self-centred. If she was working on something, it was for either her benefit, or Fudge's.<p>

Now, rebels? How on earth could a group of Hogwarts students rebel? It wasn't as though they'd be planning on starting a civil war with Fudge. So then, was Daphne being dramatic? By 'rebel alliance', did she maybe mean 'group of students who are breaking the rules'?

I whistled to myself, drumming my fingers along the banister as I skipped down the final flight of stairs. It was all very interesting, but _very_ cryptic. And I couldn't tell if Daphne's whole description had been coloured by her theatrical tendencies. Maybe it was nothing at all.

Marcus hailed me as soon as I entered the common room. "Hey, Dahlquist!" He called, striding over to me. "I was thinking… maybe _you_ could help me with this Transfiguration essay." Oh crap. I'd forgotten that essay. It was due tomorrow, and I'd completely forgotten. I glanced sideways at Marcus, who was waiting with a hopeful look on his face. "We can be 'study buddies'?" He said softly, his eye twitching as he fought against the impulse to give me a suggestive wink.

And I was almost about to say yes. That's how desperate I was…. Until I spotted Astoria, curled up in one of the huge green sofas by the fire. Without another word to Cleevebridge, I strode over to her.

"Hey, Astoria." I said warmly.

She looked up at me, blinking in confusion. "Hi, Estelle." She said cautiously. "What… did you…?"

I wasn't sure whether or not Daphne had wanted me to be subtle about my task. Oh, well. "Your sister sent me to distract you." I said simply, sinking into the armchair beside her. "She's busy tonight."

Rather than look lost and scared, Astoria looked annoyed. "Bloody hell." She swore, and I couldn't help but grin at the sight of somebody as sweet as her cursing. "Daph thinks I'm still _five_! I'm thirteen- a grown up! I can take care of _myself_."

Fair enough. "Whatever. I'm bored, and she'll make my life hell if I don't stay with you." I said, kicking off my shoes and crossing my legs.

The common room was fairly quiet. Some seventh years were going at it in the far corner- snogging against a wall, while a nearby portrait shouted curses at them. Jess was kneeling by the fireplace, roasting marshmellows with a sixth year boy who seemed to have 'accidentally' put his hand on her arse. And then forgotten to move it.

Some first years were playing a disastrous game of exploding snap, before one of the seventh years at the study tables got annoyed and flicked their wand, causing all the cards to explode at once.

"I win." He said moodily, as the first years began to look tearful.

I felt a surge of affection for my horrible, horrible housemates. I cast a glance Astoria's way. "Where are your friends?" I asked.

She shrugged. "They're playing truth or dare." She said. "It is _so_ childish." And she flipped her dark brown hair over her shoulder and sniffed disdainfully.

"Estelle!" I turned to see Jess waving at me from beside the fire, licking sticky marshmellow goo from her fingers.

"Back in a minute." I told Astoria, and then glided over to Jess' side.

She grinned at me when I arrived, and her sixth year boy sighed. "You have a hole in your sock." He said, sounding annoyed, s though sub-par grooming was something which he found personally offensive. I glanced down.

"Oh, yeah." I said. He continued to look at me, clearly waiting for an explanation. "It's an… artistic statement." I said.

Jess scoffed. "You're a laugh." She said, sounding unamused. "This is Uri. He's a friend of Elliot's… you know, Elliot Pucey?" I blinked innocently, and she sighed. "The guy you blew off for Hogsmeade the other weekend- oh Elle, you _know_ who I'm talking about."

I shrugged and sank to my knees. "Maybe." I looked over at Uri. "How _is_ Elliot going?"

Uri shrugged back at me, still looking upset. Clearly, the sock had gotten to him. "Thinks you're a cow."

I nodded. "Well, I _am_." Jess rolled her eyes, and I turned back to her. "So?"

She grinned. "What are you doing tonight?" I made a noncommittal face, and Jess clapped her hands in glee. "Yay!" she cooed. "Yay! Because guess what….. oh, you won't ever guess." She'd cut me off just as I'd opened my mouth to _try_ and guess, but feeling rather mature, I didn't snap at her. After all, she'd get infinitely more pleasure out of telling me than I would out of guessing. "Uri told me that Elliot told him that _Pansy_ said that Draco was talking about Montague organising a party tonight."

I blinked in confusion. "You what?" Jess said nothing, waiting for me to work it out. "Okay," I said, drawing a mental flowchart, as I happily snagged one of Uri's marshmellows, to his chagrin. "So Montague's having a party?"

Jess nodded happily. "Yup. Because apparently, after tonight, they would've gotten rid of the _biggest_ pain in Hogwarts history. That's all they would say." She waved a hand dismissively- as though anybody truly cared _why_ there was a party happening. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, they say. The same goes for an open bar. "But the party is… get this… in a secret room on the seventh floor."

Something clicked inside my head. Seventh floor… where I'd met Daphne. Where I'd talked to Potter… where Umbridge was catching out some sort of group of troublemakers. I had to clap a hand over my mouth to hold in the laughter.

Now Daphne's 'army' comments sounded vaguely plausible. Although, admittedly, I hadn't pictured Potter as being militant. Perhaps I ought to have been worried, but I was more amused that anything else. And I could hardly imagine the likes of Pansy, Umbridge and Daphne outwitting Potter and that brainy girl. Although, the idea of them outwitting the youngest Weasley boy didn't seem too farfetched to me.

And besides- it wasn't as thought I were _friends_ with Potter. We were just… acquaintances. Barely. Right?

"So are you coming? To the party?" Jess looked up at me eagerly.

I cast a glance back at Astoria, sitting gloomily in her armchair, looking like a five year old porcelain doll. Taking her to a party- would that annoy Daphne? Yes. Of course it would. Well, whatever. She only told me to make sure that Astoria was 'distracted'. She never said anything about her being sober.

….

As it turned out, Daphne was at the party, too. She was a little too drunk, however, to notice whether or not Astoria was there.

It was barely getting off the ground when we arrived. Apparently, Montague had chosen a magical room for the party- a secret, enchanted room they'd only just discovered the existence of. However, _that_ room had played a central part in the whole Potter/rebel/army debacle and subsequently been closed off (as if Montague hadn't forseen _that_), and so he'd relocated to some unused teacher's lounge.

It was a little lame, but it seemed to be picking up quite quickly. It was an exclusively Slytherin party, but that was actually better. Because when there's a mixed house party, the Slytherins always act a little standoffish, because they feel uncomfortable talking to the other houses. (Hufflepuffs are dull and obscenely cheerful. Ravenclaws are know-it-alls and keep mostly to themselves. Gryffindors… need I say?) But Slytherins only? Well, that's when we all went wild. Our parties were the best. We were clever enough to work out wonderful decorations, and cunning enough not to get caught and smuggle in massive quantities of alcohol. And of course, our ambition encouraged us to make bigger and better parties all the time.

Montague's was a poor example of our party-throwing abilities, but it was adequate. The whole lounge was made over in green and silver, and somebody clever had enchanted the firewhiskey out of its bottles into one huge, swirling orb, which floated in the air like some sort of magical water feature. That is, if water features were alcoholic. As I watched, a seventh year casually dipped his goblet into the orb, pulling it out brimming with firewhiskey.

"You're fine here, aren't you?" I asked Astoria. She nodded, awestruck, and I glided away. Like Jess, I hadn't bothered to change, but I'd done my hair and put on a bit of makeup. And hacked the bottom half of my robes off. Jess had been sceptical when I'd suggested that, but as I'd reminded her- we were _witches_. We could just reattach it with a simple spell later on.

"Dahlquist." I turned around to see Blaise standing behind me, holding two drinks and wearing his typical superior expression. He looked much the same as he did when he was writing essays for History of Magic, apparently finding the laughing teens, drunken girls, free alcohol, music and lights just a tad blase.

"Oh!" I shot him a charming smile. "How sweet of you….." I reached for the second goblet.

"What are you- Dahlquist, this isn't _yours_." Blaise sniffed disdainfully, holding the goblets high above my head and so just slightly out of my reach, demonstrating a deep capacity for cruelty. "You shock me with the depths of your self-centredness." I stretched once more, trying my very hardest to reach the goblet. It was futile- I would have to surrender.

I shrugged, relaxing. "_Très bien_." I said nonchalantly. "Who is it for?"

Blaise looked bored. "Oh, this girl. Don't quite remember her name." Not particularly interested, I turned to leave. "And where are you going?"

I sighed, turning back to him. "To get drunk?" I said, stating the obvious. "We're at a party."

Blaise shook his head. "No you aren't." He said. "Montague only wanted fifth, sixth and seventh years at his party- so those are the only ones who can access the firewhiskey. Looks like _you_ will have to leave." A malicious grin spread slowly across his face.

I shrugged. "Or find a willing older guy." I said, batting my eyelids. "Clearly not _you_, so perhaps… Pucey?"

Elliot, who'd been happily stumbling past, turned around, caught sight of me and smiled. "Dahlquist." He slurred, pointing accusingly at the empty space beside my left ear. "You are _such_ a cow."

My smile widened. "Oh, I know." He blinked at me cheerfully, and I put a hand on his arm. "_Mon cher_, you wouldn't get me a drink, would you?"

He shrugged happily, obliging me straight away. I shot Blaise a triumphant smirk. He looked less than impressed. As Elliot clumsily passed me a goblet brimming full of firewhiskey, his smile broadened. "Okay, Dahlquist." He said, not letting go of my hand. "Now what are _you_ going to do for _me_?"

I considered- what _was_ I going to do?

"Nothing yet." I told him finally. "You'll have to try me again when I've had more firewhiskey- then my judgement will be fully impaired."

Elliot nodded good-naturedly and gave me a jaunty wave as he strolled off. I took a sip of my drink and turned back to Blaise. He looked positively thunderous.

"You're too young for that." He said archly, nodding towards my firewhiskey. "_And_ that." Now he indicated Elliot with a jerk of his head.

I waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't be silly. I'm fifteen now."

"Estelle." Now he sounded serious. Blinking in surprise, I turned back to him. He was scowling something fearful. "I'm being serious. You should go back to the common room- come back in a year."

I tipped my head back and laughed. A tinkling, happy laugh. The sort of laugh that drew everybody's eyes- not because it was obnoxious, but because it was so pretty. I'd gotten that from my mum. Blaise looked ready to throttle me, and I smiled, tossing my head and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Blaise." I said with a tight smile. "You're not my brother or my boyfriend or my cousin or my _friend_. Why should I listen to you?"

And then I went off to find Jess.

Half an hour later- maybe less, Draco and Pansy found me.

"Holy Merlin- get off my cousin, Pucey!" Draco snarled.

The boy certainly had a talent for killing the moment. I sat up, feeling decidedly annoyed. "I'm sitting on him." I pointed out, tossing my hair out of my eyes and shooting Draco a charming smile. "Be fair- you should be telling your cousin to get off of Pucey."

A vein throbbed in Draco's forehead. "Fine." He managed to force out through gritted teeth. "Get off of Pucey, Estelle."

"Don't.." Pucey said weakly.

I got off, spinning to face Draco and Pansy's disapproving faces. "What?" I asked, crossing my arms sulkily.

Draco and Pansy exchanged looks. "I'm furious, Estelle." Draco said finally. "I don't even have the words to communicate just how _angry_ I am with you. What are you doing here?"

I frowned. "Well, I was invited."

Pansy blinked in shock. "Somebody invited _you_? As in, actually _wanted_ you to come?" She asked, gobsmacked. There was a pause, and then, as always, she recovered her ability to criticize me. "Fine. Where are your robes?"

I plucked uselessly at the mangled remains of my robes. "Here-ish." I said lamely. "So? You're not wearing much."

It was true- she'd changed into a short, tight green dress. Feeling a little self-conscious at my words, she folded her arms, too. Draco, instinctively, folded his simultaneously. Now all of us had our arms crossed. Except Elliot.

"Oi- Pucey." I said. He blinked groggily up at me. "Cross your arms."

Draco clapped in my face. "Est_elle_!" He snapped. "Focus! I don't- you're drunk!" His eyes narrowed accusatorily.

I frowned again. "Am not!" I protested. And then. "… _very_."

My cousin threw his hands in the air. "My…. Bloody...You… Estelle!" I smiled at him. "You are a complete disgrace! Fourteen years old and drunk at a party for seniors! It's utterly humiliating. And sitting on top of Pucey, there- you look like a drunken little slag!" I shrugged, grinning happily. What could I say? He was exactly right. Although, technically I was fifteen, but where was the sense in arguing the toss? "I can't even imagine what Father and Mother would say… you're an utter fool!" Also true. "_And_ there's a hole in your sock!"

Why was everybody so caught up on that? I shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other, feeling unnecessarily embarrassed about my lack of footwear. "Can't find my shoes." I said vaguely. And then- "Artistic statement."

Clearly sensing just how unaffected I was by his lecture, he flushed, slamming his hand down on a nearby table. "But the _worst_ part." He said. "Is Daphne's poor little sister, who is currently _vomiting_ in the corner."

Draco had always had a little but of a crush on Daphne, my mind told me, disgruntled. Of _course_ he was taking her side.

But wait- did he say…

"She _what_?" I gaped. "How did she even get into the alcohol?"

Draco threw his hands out in supplication. "I have no idea." He said desperately. "But she _definitely_ can't hold her liquor." By his side, Pansy shook her head sadly, as though Astoria's tale was one of such tragic proportions she could barely go on living.

That seemed silly. I was barely tipsy after several drinks. "I can hold _my_ liquor." I said lamely.

Pansy smirked at me. "Not everybody comes from alcoholic stock like you." She said nastily. I poked out my tongue at her, and Draco grabbed my arm.

"Stop!" He snapped. "Now, I've rounded up your little friends, _and_ Daphne's sister. You're the only one who is vaguely in control of herself. And even _that_ is a stretch." As he said that last bit, he shot a significant glare at Pucey, who was smiling contentedly at the ceiling.

Now I was beginning to feel a little guilty. With as much dignity as I could muster, I placed my goblet down on the same table Draco had been emphatically whacking every time he made a point. "Alright." I said calmly. "You want me to take them back to the common room? Fine." I began to walk towards the door, my stride purposeful and deliberate, and in my opinion not at all unsteady. Draco and Pansy followed me, looking superior.

They were waiting in a sad little clump by the doorway. Jess was slumped unhappily against Carmeline, who was yawning something chronic. Marcus, whom I hadn't even realized had come to the party, was trying desperately to work out how to button up his shirt, but failing. And on the ground, curled up in a sad, sad little ball, was an incredibly disheveled looking Astoria.

"Oh." I said simply.

"_Exactly_." Draco hissed from behind me. "I cannot _believe_ that you even brought them here!"

That didn't seem fair… after all, Jess had brought _me_. And so perhaps she could have been said to have brought Astoria by extension. And I had no idea about Marcus and Carmeline, so they couldn't be my fault.

I hid the smile that was forming on my face and strode over to the sad bunch. "Hello!" I said, grinning at them. Jess rolled over with a moan, revealing that her eye-makeup was smudged all over her face. "How did you manage this? We haven't been in here more than forty minutes."

Carmeline gave a sad little shrug. "We drink fast." She mumbled.

It was going to be hell bringing this lot back to the dungeons. Marcus gave a devastated cry as he looked down to see that he'd done his buttons up entirely wrong. "Why?" He whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why do they make these so _hard_?"

I gave a sharp sigh and sank to my knees, feeling _much_ more sober. "Alright, genius." I said gently. "Lets fix you up." He smiled gratefully at me as I fumblingly fixed up his buttons.

"You missed one." A voice said coldly. Glancing down, I saw that one of Marcus' middle buttons hadn't been done up, despite my best efforts, and further up the shirt, one of the button holes was popping out, alone. What a mess.

I turned around to see Blaise glowering at me. Exasperated, I stood up. "_You_ do it then, if it bothers you." I snapped.

He blinked, taken aback. "Are you angry at me?" He asked coolly, as though such a thing would be inconceivable.

I bit my lip, and reminded myself that punching him would not be a constructive way to handle the situation. "Of _course_ I am." I said, shoving him away from me. "You told Draco I was here!"

He shrugged. "Well, you _are_ here." He pointed out. "And you're slurring your words. Between _that_ and the accent, I can barely understand you." He sniffed. "And that is why foreigners shouldn't be allowed to drink."

"You're just jealous!" I snapped at him, and he let out a low, cold laugh.

"You're clearly an angry drunk." He drawled. "Jealous of what?"

My smile was vicious. "You're possessive." I told him. "Of all the Slytherin girls." He looked taken aback, so pressed on. "And this year, you've been talking to me more, being _polite_." I curled my lip. "Did you think I didn't notice? You've only just realized that I don't fall for your crap, and it's made you insecure."

"You're a fool." Blaise said disdainfully.

I shook my head. "You told yourself that I just wasn't ready for boys yet. And _then_ there was Pucey, and Cleevebridge, and now Pucey again- and lets not forget _Potter_." I grinned. "I even like Potter more than you!"

Blaise hissed, grabbing my arm and dragging me off to one side. "Draco is standing _right there_." He pointed out. "You must be sloshed if you're talking about Potter in front of him- especially tonight." I blinked in confusion, and Blaise rolled his eyes. "You don't even know, do you?" He laughed. "Your little friend probably got expelled tonight- that's what this party is for." His grin was cruel. "That's what you've been _celebrating_. No more Potty Potter running about the place- it is _done_."

I didn't allow that to sink in. "You _like_ me." I taunted. "That's what this is about. You _like_ me."

He let go of my arm as though repulsed. "I don't _like_ anybody." He told me furiously. "Especially not drunken little slags."

I grinned. "You prefer your slags _sober_, I've noticed."

The edges of Blaise's mouth turned down, and he made to say something, but then Draco was back, managing to look completely impatient and completely disgusted at the same time. "Are you coming back, Blaise? Leanna is looking for you."

Both Blaise and I exchanged identical looks as we registered that Leanna must be the girl whose name he'd forgotten. And then we remembered that we were fighting.

"No." Blaise said, looking away from me. "Two seconds talking to your little cousin here has shown me that she is _completely_ trashed." He sighed, the picture of a Saint. He even looked the part, with his dark good looks- all he needed was a halo. "I'm going to make sure they all get back to the common room alright. _Not_." He held up a hand to forestall my question. "Because I _like_ Estelle, but because I don't want them to get caught- any of the teachers would catch on in a second. They'd know there'd been a party and the whole house would be _obliterated_."

Draco nodded. "Good idea- clearly we can't _trust_ Estelle anymore."

I sniffed. It was ridiculous for him to be quite this angry at me, just because I was a little tipsy. "You're just angry that I was kissing Pucey." I told him, examining my fingernails nonchalantly.

"You _what_?" Blaise snapped.

I shrugged, throwing the cloak Pucey had leant me over my left shoulder. "You wouldn't care about that- _remember_?"

And I loped away, my friends struggling to their feet to follow me, like a particularly uncoordinated gang of zombies. As we trooped towards the door, I heard Draco mutter to Blaise. "Merlin- she really is _completely_ sloshed."

…..

The walk back to the dungeons was actually quite fun. We made good progress, and I was feeling happy to the point where I lost all my reservations. My sullenness had slipped away, and I wasn't being bitchy. Instead, I was buoying up everybody else with my good mood.

Two minutes out the door and I was leading the group - even poor, green-in-the-face Astoria - in a Weird Sisters medly.

Blaise was the exception. He walked at the back of the group, looking- as always- cool and detached and superior to everybody else.

I didn't care. The fresh air from the windows (which we may have opened ourselves in a slight deviation from school regulations) was invigorating, and everybody seemed to be getting their second wind. And then….

"Shut up." Blaise said, cutting us off halfway through a fabulous rendition of Billy Joel's 'Piano Man', which I'd managed to teach the group in record time. "We're quite close to Dumbledore's office, now. So try and be…."

There was the sound of a shout, and suddenly, two men rounded the corner. One was tall and black, with strong features, and the other was rather mousey and unimposing.

"He couldn't have gotten far, Dawlish." The black one said, his voice a low rumble.

The mousey one- Dawlish- nodded, looking panicked. "Alright- I'll head this way, you…."

"Opposite you. I know." The black one nodded, and Dawlish ran off.

Blaise held out a hand, stopping us from moving past him I felt a little annoyed that he thought I was drunk enough to just stumble out into the path of an angry adult- I was stealthy, practically a ninja, no matter how much I'd had to drink. Besides, the black man had his back to us. Clearly assuming we were in the clear, Blaise lowered his arm a bit, eyes still fixed on the man's back, ready for the slightest shift in his position to suggest that he'd noticed us. But the man didn't move, merely called out in a voice more amused than authoritative. "You children should be in bed."

Clearly, we were discovered. I saw no point in cowering behind a pillar. I pushed past Blaise and shot the man a charming smile. "We were headed that way." I told him sweetly. "I didn't realize that we were taking mature aged students at Hogwarts- you're not Gryffindor, are you? Because there is a _wonderful_ Slytherins-Only party going on up there." I gestured daringly to the ceiling, and behind me, Blaise dropped his head in his hands.

The man turned to face me, amused, and then his eyes widened as they fixed on my face. His smile broadened a little, and then he frowned sharply, as though pulling himself back under control. It was a wide range of facial expressions to take place in such a small amount of time. I couldn't help but smile. "You have a hole in your sock." He told me, matter-of-factly.

I nodded absently, as the others tentatively crept out from behind the pillar. "It's an artistic statement." I told him, more out of habit than out of conviction.

He frowned, taking in our dilapidated appearances. It was fairly obvious (even without me having invited him to a party) that we were a little worse for wear, but he didn't comment. Instead he said. "You should go to bed, Miss Dahlquist." And then he sprinted off down the hall, still smiling.

At that point, I was still too tipsy to register that a complete stranger had called me by name.

….

We got down to the dungeons without further incident. Blaise glowered angrily the whole way, and completely ruined the fun. Every time we tried to sing, or began to giggle, he swore at us in rapid Italian and threatened to jinx us. And Blaise, for all his faults, could pull off some mean jinxes.

When we reached the dungeons, he waited by the stairwell, watching impassively as everybody trooped upstairs, shamefaced. Marcus was so scared of Blaise that he didn't even hit on me, just waved miserably. Of course, _I_ wasn't scared of Blaise. Quite the opposite. So when Marcus waved, I grinned and threw myself into his arms, giving him an exuberant kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight, _cher_." I sang happily, giggling as Blaise yanked me off of him.

"Bed." Blaise ordered coldly, and Marcus' wide smile disappeared as he ran upstairs.

I sighed, and tugged at my arm, trying to push Blaise off. "Alright." I said, "I need to march upstairs, too, like a child with a slapped bottom… let _go_, Zabini!"

Instead, he pulled me flush up against him, glaring at me furiously. "You're drunk, and your breath smells of firewhiskey." He told me sharply. "You look a complete mess- your makeup is all over your face, and there's a hole in your sock, and you've managed to get the side of your robes caught in your undies." I hissed, trying to push him off. But he held on. "_But_." He continued, and his voice sounded a little less icy. "You were right before."

And then he kissed me. So swiftly and suddenly that I didn't even know what had happened at first. But then the kiss deepened, and my hands went up to his hair, and his slipped down around my waist. But just as suddenly as it had begun it was over and we were standing apart, though still quite close. Blaise was looking intently at me, and I was gaping, but the silence between us didn't seem uncomfortable at all. Rather, it felt quite natural, as though there was really very little to say. But it couldn't go on forever, and finally, very quietly, Blaise said again, "You were right before." And then- "I _am_ possessive of the Slytherin girls.

….

They say that, when you're hungover, what you need is a little bit of the hair of the dog that bit you.

Well, I spiced my morning coffee with firewhiskey, for tradition's sake, but I felt fine. Infuriatingly fine.

Jess and Carmeline were furious.

Jess was lying on the floor, facedown, and Carmeline was standing with her head pressed against the cool stone wall of the common room. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, beside Jess' prone form, while I painted my nails.

We hadn't seen Marcus yet.

"It's indecent." Jess moaned, voice muffled by the carpet. "You should at least have a headache."

I sipped my coffee. "I'm afraid not." I told them. "I don't really get sick."

"Everyone gets sick!" Carmeline bellowed from the other side of the room. "It isn't fair! I hate you!"

I frowned. "Hey!" I threw a pillow at her. "You just asked me to go downstairs and get you breakfast- and I _agreed_ didn't I?" To my happy surprise, throwing that pillow had revealed my school shoes, which I hadn't been able to find all of the previous night _and_ this morning. I vaguely recalled having taken them off while talking to Astoria before the party had even begun- had I really not remembered to put them back on? Was I wandering through the corridors last night in nothing but my socks? Did I actually forget to wear shoes to that party? Amused, I pulled them on straight away, ignoring the unhappy noises Carmeline was making.

"So then _why are you still here_?" Jess half screamed, pounding her fists against the floor in frustration. "Go away! Take your non-headache and your happy stomach and BRING ME CARBS!"

I decided not to take that personally. "I'm waiting to see if Marcus wants anything." I told them honestly. "He's got to be in a bad way." I paused. "I checked if Astoria was hungry, but she seemed slightly…. unconscious. I think she just needs sleep."

"I think Marcus might be dead." Carmeline whispered. "That's a little sad, isn't it? That he's dead."

I sighed, standing up and blowing on my nails to dry them. "He isn't _dead_, Carmeline." I told her. "I think I'll just bring him back some toast. Doubt he'll be able to keep much else down."

"Go go go go go go!" Jess groaned. "Go- and find out where everybody else is."

They were at breakfast, of course. The first, second, third and fourth years all looked bright eyed- the picture of health, happiness and wholesomeness. The older half of the house looked practically dead. But despite the less-than-chirpy state of the Slytherin table, the entire hall was alive with gossip and owls. Blinking in confusion (usually everybody was still half asleep at breakfast), I noticed a piece of paper pinned to the door. Though not technically hungover, my brain wasn't working as fast as usual, so it took me a moment to read the heading:"Educational Decree Number 28.." And then my eyes widened. Ripping it off of the door, I strode over to the Slytherin table, found Draco's white-blonde head in the crowd, and slammed it down in front of him. "What?" I demanded.

Draco blinked irritably up at me. "Not so loud." He muttered. "My Pepper-Up potion hasn't kicked in yet."

Picturing Carmeline and Jess' tragic condition upstairs, I considered my mission. "Did you have any of that spare?"

Draco shrugged. "Oh, Montague just poured about five bottles into the coffee pot." He sighed, looking more awake with every passing second. "It's over there, somewhere..." He waved a hand redundantly at the table. Really- where else would the coffee pot be?

I grinned. "Lovely." I said happily, picking it up to a chorus of protests from the surrounding students. "Now- what's this?" I pressed a finger against the notice which I'd dumped on top of Draco's breakfast.

"A right mess." Pansy snapped, looking less than pristine. "We gave Umbridge Potter's head on a plate, and instead she goes and gets rid of Dumbledore."

"Well _I_ think it's good." Tracey said happily. "And _you_ should be pleased, Pansy. You too, Draco."

Draco glared at her. "I _am_ pleased." He snapped, sounding far from it. And then, catching sight of my confused face, he smirked. "Umbridge has started a little sort of elite group of students- the Inquisitorial Squad, see?" He pulled his robes out to show me his new badge, sitting firmly next to his prefect one. "We're basically in charge of maintaining order in the halls." The more he spoke about this thing, the more alert he seemed, the happier- the more _malicious_.

"Oh. And Umbridge is Headmaster." Pansy interjected, attempting to apply her lipgloss, but, clearly still not feeling the best, managing to smear some onto her cheek. "Shit." She hissed, reaching for a napkin.

My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. "She what?" They both shrugged and nodded. I was completely at a loss. "What happened?"

To my surprise, it was a passing first year that answered. "Dumbledore fought off two aurors, the Minister for Magic, the Minister's _assistant_, and Umbridge when they tried to arrest him." He cried, clapping his hands together wildly. "And he _killed_ the Minister. He conjured up a giant dragon and it _ate him_!" And with that, the little boy waddled off, probably to spout nonsense at somebody else. Flabbergasted, I turned back to Draco, who shrugged again.

"That _is_ about the sum of it." He admitted. "The Minister isn't dead though, obviously." He frowned. "I'm not sure about the dragons..."

I placed one finger to each of my temples. "What did Potter manage to do _this_ time?"

Pansy leaned forwards conspiratorially. "He'd started an _army_- for Dumbledore! They called it 'Dumbledore's Army'."

I couldn't help but smile. "Creative when it comes to naming things, aren't they- those Gryffindors."

Ignoring me, Pansy continued. "They were all doing illicit spells, and there were tonnes of them! Spells _and_ soldiers!" Her manic grin turned into a scowl. "Gryffindor soldiers, of course, with a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws- no match for us." While she spoke, I'd been piling a plate high with buttered toast, eggs, sausages and bacon. Catching sight of it, Pansy sniffed. "You should _really_ consider going on a diet, Estelle." She told me kindly. And then her smile widened as she caught sight of something behind me. "Oh- hi, Blaise." She cooed. "Leanna had a great time last night."

I felt Blaise step up behind me, and braced myself for the worst as memories of the night before came pouring back. He wouldn't think we were a couple, would he? But no, this was Blaise Zabini- he didn't _do_ couples. "I don't know who that is." I heard him say from over my left shoulder. And then. "Somebody's a little hungry today."

Was that all he had to say to me? I was mildly shocked. It wasn't that I thought we were in a relationship after one kiss, or anything like that, really. I mean, snogging as just a little bit of fun- I never thought of it as meaning anything. Not when I kissed anybody. But the boys I usually kissed weren't my friends. Blaise and I didn't plait each other's hair or gossip or anything like that, but we _were_ sort of friends. Didn't that mean we had to discuss this thing?

Clearly not, judging from his behaviour so farFine. He was going to act like nothing happened? So would I. Besides, it was better that way.

I swivelled around as fast as I could, so that I was standing right up against him. As he blinked in shock, I beamed at him. "You look perky this morning, Zabini." I said cheerfully, fully aware that the last time we'd been standing this close we'd been kissing.

He didn't react. "You look a little…. Peckish this morning." His eyes ran over my plate, looking mildly disgusted.

I shrugged. "It isn't for me. It's for Jess and Carmeline. Oh, and Marcus, if the little fool ever gets out of bed."

Blaise's eyes flickered a little- so quickly it might've been my imagination. "Have you heard about Draco's promotion?" He asked tightly, and I nodded. "Good, isn't it? He can even take points off of prefects now."

"Very exciting." I said with a yawn. "But I'm more interested in our new headmaster. Does this mean she won't be teaching Defence any more?"

Pansy snorted. "You _wish_."

I shrugged. "Alright, well I'd better be getting back to the girls and Marcus." I grinned at them all. "I have food _and_ gossip. It would be selfish to delay sharing."

Draco was watching me thoughtfully. "I do hope you learned your lesson last night." He told me seriously. "You remember?"

Perfect opening. I shrugged one shoulder innocently, sending my hair tumbling out of its loose bun and down my back. "Oh, not really." I said nonchalantly. "Can't say I remember anything much of last night."

"You… don't remember?" Pansy asked, frowning.

I shrugged again. "I think I made out with Pucey. But that's a little bit of a blur." I gave a charming little laugh. "Oh, well. I guess nothing that _memorable_ happened." But I couldn't help but look at Blaise as I said it, and in that second, I knew that we both remembered exactly what had happened- and both knew it. It was time to make my exit. "I'm going. Have a nice breakfast!"

….

I was leaving the Great Hall when I saw Potter, sitting alone with his head in his hands, glaring disconsolately at his feet.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was striding over to him, smiling like an idiot.

"What's going on?" I asked him, smiling down at him with my hands clasped in front of me like a little girl, the plate full of food levitating happily behind me. "You look _sad_. Not at all like the commander of Dumbledore's personal army."

Rather than look exasperated, but tolerant, he looked angry. "I'm not in the mood, Estelle." He said curtly.

With a sigh, I sat down beside him, slumping casually and shooting him a smile as I dumped the plate of food and the coffee pot over to one side with a flick of my wand.

"Don't be such a girl, Potter." I said snidely. And then, because he looked so very unhappy, I smiled at him. "It'll all be fine. Dumbledore doesn't seem the type to allow himself to be shafted. He'll be back."

There was a pause. "He took the fall for _me_. He took the blame." He turned to me, and I found myself shocked by the depths he was willing to confide in me. I had done nothing to earn his trust, and yet there he was, gazing at me with his ridiculously green eyes as though we'd been friends for years. "He shouldn't have done that. His presence at Hogwarts is _so_ much more important that mine."

I scoffed at him. "Oh, _Potter_." I drawled. "Now, I don't know the full story here, but do you _really_ think Dumbledore wouldn't have thought about this?" I asked.

Potter blinked in shock. "Excuse me?" and then, with a frown. "He- he only had a split second to think about it.

I sighed, running a gloved hand through my hair, pulling at the snarls and tangles. "Please." I said dismissively. "As though that man misses _anything_ that happens in this Godforsaken place." I shot him a look. "Well. If you think you know better than Dumbledore…." He still looked desolate. I sighed again. "He would've done what he thought was best. If he did sacrifice himself for you, he would have had a reason. You know that, Potter."

And then, because the moment was getting a little too personal, I sniffed and said. "Which means that you're just looking for a way to alleviate your guilt. I'm not helping with that." Somehow, he still looked unhappy. "Stop _worrying_, Potter." I said, hating myself for sounding so kind and caring. "It's done now, and when something happens that upsets you, or messes you up inside.. well- you have to just make the best of it. You can do that- you're always so horribly optimistic." But I smiled at him. I couldn't help it. I smiled a _genuine_ smile, of warmth and comfort. It lit up my face, I could feel it.

I probably looked like a crazy person.

"How would you know?"

I sighed, absently picking up a piece of toast, ripping it in half and giving some to Potter. "I'm working through some things myself, at the moment. It's hard when things go so badly wrong that it changes the way you see things, or messes up your plans. But the only way through is forward." I sighed, after that speech. "Or backwards, I suppose, but that really gets you nowhere. You can go _under_, only to get far away enough from it you'd have to sink deep inside yourself, and that's no help." I considered. "Can't think of anything to make going _over_ unappealing, but it seems wrong. You have to go _through_. Face it head on and then _move_ on."

Harry was watching me, askance. "Are we talking about you or me?" He asked, not in a mean way, but in an honest way.

I shrugged, swallowing a bite of toast. "You, of course. I'm trying to say that you have to move _past_ this." Again, I smiled that ridiculous smile- the smile of a friend.

There was a long moment of silence then, and I found myself rubbing his back a little, without even bothering to see who was watching.

"You're so _different_." Potter said quietly.

I smiled, "thankyou."

"No," he shook his head, "well, yes, I mean, you are _unique_, but I meant, you're so different when we're alone to how you are when anybody else is around."

I shrugged, "I don't trust them."

"You trust me?"

I looked at him sideways, taking in the pretty eyes, the dilapidated glasses, the messy hair. Fidgeting under my scrutiny, he ran a hand through it, messing it up more.

I thought back on the time I'd known him. The earnest expression on his face when he'd returned my books. The tentative way he _always_ called me 'Estelle'. The way he wouldn't give up. The way he introduced me to his friends like he thought we could somehow get along. The way he'd helped me with my spellwork, even after I'd told him I didn't like him.

"I'm not sure," I said honestly, "I think I might. But I find it so _hard_ to trust people." I looked away, frustrated. Not with him- with _myself_, for suddenly opening up to him.

"Why is that?" Harry asked quietly.

I lifted my hands in supplication, "I don't know! Probably because everybody I ever cared about left me. Father. Mother. Everybody."

"Your father didn't leave you though- your mother left him." Harry pointed out, somewhat strangely, considering that he was hardly an expert. When had I told him that?

"He deserved it." I said, with full certainty and more than a little bitterness, "whatever he did- he deserved it."

"But maybe what he did wasn't so bad," Harry said, frowning, "I mean, she loved him- she had to have good taste in people… maybe it was a mistake, maybe she overreacted…"

I snorted, trying to numb the old pain I felt at the mention of my dad, "she wasn't an idiot, Potter," I said finally, "it wasn't like she upped and left because he left the toilet seat up too many times…. She was rational, and practical, when she wanted to be. Whatever he did must've been _awful_ to make her so unhappy."

Harry shrugged, "yeah, but maybe he didn't do it! Maybe it was a- a misunderstanding!"

I was beginning to get a little annoyed, "I used to tell myself that," I admitted, "I used to think he'd turn up, with some," I waved my hands around, searching for the word, "grand story of mistaken identity.. or mind control…. But that just isn't the way it is." I lowered my hands, staring at the fire, "people suck. A lot. He did something really bad to hurt my mother like that. And to be honest, I don't know if I _want_ to know him, after that."

Harry was still frowning, and rubbing at his scar again. I wondered if it itched. People always say that scars itch when they're new- do they itch when they're old?

Without thinking, I reached out and pulled his hand down from his forehead, holding it firmly between us.

He turned to me in confusion, and there we were, close enough to kiss….

Shit. Shit! What was I thinking?

Trying to keep calm, I gave it a little pat and let it go, "if you keep scratching at it like that," I told him seriously, "it might scar or something."

His eyes crinkled up a little and he laughed tiredly, "yeah," he said, "it just- twinges at the moment." Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, he cleared his throat, "so, you really wouldn't want to meet him?"

I debated with myself- should I be honest? Open? I shot him a sideways look, biting my lip. He seemed to sense I was evaluating him, but he just met my gaze calmly and honestly, waiting. He'd only ever been honest and open with me, I reasoned, "of course I do." I said, surprising myself, "he's my father- I'd want to hear his side. I always have wanted to." I thought again, "you know, my mother really, really loved him. Even if he wasn't my dad, I'd want to meet him for that."

"She loved him?"

"_So_ much," I said, nodding, "even though he hurt her, she told me a little bit about him. When I was naughty, or mischievous, she used to say it came from him. I thought it was bad- I'd cry, but she'd always say that it was good to look on the world with some lightness. Like he did."

He grinned, "I've never really seen you be mischievous," he told me, and I shrugged, looking away from his smile.

"It's hard to look on the world with lightness," I said, "when everything seems dark."

To my surprise, Harry scoffed, "you are _so_ French," he said, with a light chuckle. I felt vaguely offended, that his gut reaction was scorn, but even as the thought crossed my mind, one of his arms dropped around my shoulder and her pulled me in against him.

I enjoyed it for a moment- no more, and then asked, "Potter? What the hell are you doing?" as calmly as I could.

I could see him smile, though he didn't look at me, "I'm hugging you." He said simply.

I shifted uncomfortably, "well, could you stop doing that?"

"In a minute."

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: well, I'm putting this up because I finished it. But maybe I'm moving too fast- no reviews for the past two chapters, and after getting five for one chapter!

Please do review! I promise I won't do that thing where authors don't post unless they get review, but it really does motivate me a lot.

(This isn't emotional blackmail _at all_)

But seriously, let me know how you're finding the characters, or again, if there's anybody you want to see! Let me know what you think about Blaise, or how you think Estelle will react when she finally finds out who her father is.

Hope you're enjoying it- we're seriously close to the battle at the Ministry now.


	12. Chapter 12

Jess, Carmeline and I decided to skive off most of our classes, that day.

We probably weren't alone in that- no doubt half of Slytherin had mysteriously come down with illnesses during the night.

Of course, we knew that we couldn't keep that up for long, and sure enough, just before lunch, Snape ambushed the Common room in a sneak attack and sent us all trooping downstairs (or in most people's cases shuffling zombie-like downstairs) to catch the end of our pre-lunch lesson.

After that, it was straight to the Great Hall.

En masse, we sat down at our table, sort of staring contemplatively at the food, trying to decide whether we'd realistically be able to stomach it. Meanwhile, the first years had noticed that our traditional pecking order had been suspended for the day, and so began to sample the choice foodstuffs, which they had not been able to try throughout their schooling. Although not hungover, I felt entirely seized with ennui, and watched disinterestedly as a second year lunged at the Shepherd's Pie, shrieking in triumph.

"Hello, Estelle!" Draco called gleefuly, plonking himself down beside me, grinning like a maniac. "I've had a wonderful morning!" Even Crabbe and Goyle, walking up behind him, looked rather happy.

Amused, I smiled up at them. "Look." I said, in a tone of absolute wonder. "Draco, _look_- they feel emotions, too. Just like real humans." Their smiles faded a little, and Draco scowled.

"Honestly, Estelle." He snapped. But then his strange glee was back. "I just took about fifty points off of Potter, Weasel and the Mudblood. You would have laughed _so_ much, Elle!"

I considered that statement, and decided to answer honestly. "Actually, I probably wouldn't have." I admitted. "I'm a fan of black humour and Oscar Wilde- terrorising Gryffindors isn't really my thing so much."

"She's just being contrary." Pansy announced, nose stuck in the air, as she took a seat beside Draco. "She really would've laughed."

There wasn't really any point in contradicting them. With a sigh, I treated myself to the last piece of Shepherd's Pie, more for the sake of chastising the overly loud second year than out of any sort of hunger. Sure enough, the boy's mouth sank into a devastated frown. I winked at him.

"I want to die." Jess said, contributing helpfully to the conversation. "We just had transfiguration, and if Macgonnagal hadn't been so cut up about Dumbledore, she would've remembered the essays that were due- that _nobody_ did."

Carmeline nodded in agreement. "_Nobody_." She said pointlessly. "Nobody did them. We all went to the party."

"So she'll remember _that_ eventually." Jess continued, miserably. "And our lives will be forfeit, because even if we finish the essays by then, she'll kill us for not reminding her." That _did_ seem like a fairly likely series of events. I patted her back sympathetically. But she wasn't finished. "And now we have potions, just after Snape caught us all skiving." She groaned and thumped her head down on the table.

"We need a miracle." Carmeline sighed, staring mournfully at the food. "That potato looks lovely, but I really don't think it'd be a good idea for me to eat it." She blinked up at us, as though shocked by our lack of sympathy. "Really." She said, looking confused. "I wouldn't be able to eat it."

Everybody stared at her for a moment, and, apparently satisfied, she returned to contemplating the food. "Can't eat those beans, either." She muttered.

Draco shot me a look. "What's wrong with them?" he asked, waving his fork in Jess and Carmeline's direction. No matter how scornfully he acted towards younger students, he was quite fiercely protective of his housemates. "You took all that Pepper-Up down to them- how come they're still…. Well, comatose, really."

Carmeline and Jess actually managed to look up and glare and me before re-thumping their heads on the table. Embarrassed, I shrugged. "Well, I got distracted on the way, and… and it's just that…. I didn't realise that Pepper-Up loses its potency so quickly….."

Jess shot me a bleary glare. "I'll bet she was talking to a boy." She muttered resentfully, unaware that Blaise was at that second walking up behind her. "Elle is _always_ talking to a boy."

Now close enough to catch the end of the sentence, Blaise met not my eyes, but Draco's. "What boy?" He asked coolly, as though the fact that I talked to boys was something icky and gross, and also somehow Draco's fault.

Irritated beyond all reason, I picked up my knife and stabbed it two inches into the table. "Why does _everybody_ talk about me like I'm some sort of slut?" I demanded angrily.

Unfortunately, seeing as _my_ friends were practically dying and the others were boys, it fell to Pansy to answer my question with her typical sweetness and charm. "Well, you _are_ a little slut, Estelle." She pointed out.

I hissed. "I am _not_."

"Didn't you hook up with Pucey last night?" She demanded archly. Grudgingly, I murmured my assent. "Of _course_ you did. And do you have any intention of talking to him again?" I met her gaze stonily, and she simpered. "Of _course_ you don't."

"And what about poor Marcus?" Carmeline said tiredly. "You sort of fluctuate between flirting, being friends, and treating him like poo."

"I do not _flirt_ with Marcus Cleevebridge!" I protested weakly. "I'll admit to the poo and the friends," the first years on my left stopped laughing and turned to stare at me, baffled by that sentence. Undaunted, I continued. "But I won't admit to having flirted with him- I never did that."

"What about Blaise, then?" Both Blaise and I froze at Pansy's words, turning to face her malicious little smirk. "Oh, I saw you last night- the two of you kissed, and Estelle, were you ever planning on talking about it?"

I shot a look up at Blaise, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm not going to answer that." I said smoothly, just as Draco turned to Pansy- ignoring both Blaise and I- glowering, and muttered. "Zabini hooked up with my _cousin_?"

And then, as though specifically timed to save us an incredibly awkward moment, fireworks began to go off. All over the school.

Even Carmeline and Jess ran out with the rest of the school to admire the sight, happily crying. "Our miracle- it's our miracle!". And perhaps they _were_ a miracle, because not two minutes after they started, Jess and Carmeline were whooping happily, dancing around and absolutely bursting with energy. They weren't alone, either. All the students were laughing and pointing. The first years were clapping eagerly, and the older couples were linking arms as they watched the show, as though the whole scene were some sort of special date se up just for them.

The fireworks were the loveliest things I'd ever seen. There were Catherine wheels, and little pretty sparky ones, and rockets and even several giant green and red dragons, performing airborne acrobatics. Remembering their conversation about dragons in the library, I couldn't help but send a proud gaze Fred and George's way.

And of course, they were cackling like two year olds, clutching their sides and wailing with laughter. As I watched, Umbridge emerged from a nearby corridor, toady face flushed with fury. "Don't _stun_ them, Filch!" She bellowed over her shoulder.

Draco and I turned to each other in confusion. Filch? The squib? Stunning things?

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Draco demanded, looking almost desperate with confusion. It was a sort of dumb question to ask us. After all, we'd been in the Great Hall with _him_ for the past half hour. I glanced up to see the younger Weasley- Harry's friend- grinning dopily at the lights. Even Bushy Hair Girl looked reluctantly impressed.

But where was Harry? I'd spoken to him just after breakfast… At that thought, my face flushed a little, remembering how open I'd been with him. Remembering the hug.

"You're blushing." I heard Blaise's voice in my ear. I stiffened, pasting a scowl on my face. "You're not thinking about _me_. You're thinking about…" He followed the direction of my gaze, and I could sense his cold little smile. "Oh, Estelle- are you thinking about _Potter_?"

I spun around to face him. "Don't be dense, Zabini." I said, making my tone cool and detached. "Why would I be?"

His face looked oddly stiff and uncertain, as though he were clutching on to his disdainful expression, but it was slipping away from him. I'll be honest- the expression worried me. He looked almost vulnerable. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

And then, before I had time to react, he'd scowled, grabbed my wrist and dragged me along the corridor to a deserted classroom. Just before he pushed me inside, I caught sigh of Potter, emerging from the same corridor that Umbridge had. He'd seen me, too, and looked completely at a loss. I lifted my hand in a jaunty wave, and then, to annoy Blaise, blew him a quick kiss.

And Blaise _did_ seem annoyed. He hissed, slamming the door behind us. And just like that, the whole thing seemed less like a weird game, and more like an abduction.

"Well, _now_ what?" I demanded, facing Blaise.

He frowned at the sound of my voice, disdain now in full operation. "You're turning into a shrew." He told me matter-of-factly. "Dahlquist or not, nobody is going to let you marry their pureblood sons if you screech all the time."

I scowled furiously. "Then I'll marry a muggle and have fifty muggle children!" I declared. He simply met my gaze, deadpan. "Fine." I snapped, and then smiled disconcertingly up at him, batting my eyelashes. "Did you want to _talk_ about something, Zabini?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "As though you don't know."

As though I didn't. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It was nothing." I said finally. "I was drunk and you'd been pulled away from your date. It wouldn't have happened under normal circumstances."

Blaise nodded thoughtfully. "I agree. It was a complete mistake."

I leaned forwards a little. "Terrible lapse in judgement."

"You were quite drunk, and I was frustrated." Blaise told me, taking a small step forwards.

"_So_ drunk." I agreed, exaggerating just a little. "Never doing that again."

Blaise snorted. "Too right. You're hardly worth the tantrum that Draco would have if he heard I was kissing his baby cousin."

My eyes flashed a little. It was pathetic, I know, but my pride was hurt. "Neither are _you_." I snapped, stepping forwards and pushing him a little. "I shouldn't have believed all the hype."

Now _he_ looked offended. "What's that supposed to mean? The hype is entirely accurate, and you _know_ that." I just gave an innocent little shrug. He snarled. "Well, _you_ kiss like you've got a dead fish in your mouth, and you're just wiggling it around in _mine_."

I tossed my hair. "That's disgusting." I told him. "And at least I _do_ kiss- you just sort of open and close your mouth, like you're trying to talk but you've forgotten how."

Blaise moved forward til we were inches apart. "When you put your hands in my hair." He told me viciously. "It was like you were a monkey trying to _groom_ me."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, you _do_ love your animal analogies, don't you?" Then my eyes turned steely. "What about _your_ hands while we were kissing."

"What about them?" Blaise demanded, and I shrugged, leaning casually back on a nearby desk and flipping my hair over my shoulder.

"Oh, just a little _clammy_." I grinned maliciously. "And what were you even _doing_? It was like you found my waist and thought 'oh, this is convenient. I might just lean here for a bit'. I felt like a table."

"Well that's practically what you were." He snapped. "A _table_."

I laughed again, louder this time. My most infuriating laugh- head tilted back, the sound tinkling and sweet. "What does that even _mean_, Zabini?"

He stepped up close to me, so that I was staring right into his dark eyes. "You're a whore." He said, his voice low and hoarse with anger.

Meeting the challenge, I stepped right up against him. "So are you." I snapped, grinning in triumph.

And then- and I am _not_ proud of this- we were kissing again. It was ridiculous. We'd gone from nearly killing each other to making out in what had to be record time. And despite our discussion, there were no complaints this time. Of course I didn't kiss like a dead fish- of _course_ Blaise knew what he was doing. There was no grooming and no clammy hands. And just to cement the irony of the situation, at the very moment that out lips touched, some of the fireworks from outside nudged their way through the closed door, and exploded over our heads.

So, literally, while we were kissing we saw fireworks.

The night before, he'd pulled away. Today, it was me.

And as if by magic, it was as though the kiss had never happened. We were glaring at each other instantly, and Blaise even had his arms crossed.

"Another mistake." I told him sternly, breaking the silence.

Blaise nodded. "Naturally." He said coolly. "Completely idiotic." And then, as sparks rained down on his head. "Could somebody _please_ work out how to stop these damn fireworks!" He spat.

To our shock, they sort of floated away as he said that, heading out the nearest window. I gave a low whistle of appreciation. "You sure showed them who's boss."

Blaise sighed. "You are so often childish." He told me, and he'd said the same thing a dozen times before, but now it seemed wrong. Forced, almost.

In fact, the entire situation seemed completely unnatural.

"Blaise?" I said finally, and he glanced up at me, looking confused. "I think… I think that neither of us want this."

"This?" He asked, sounding bored, but his eyes gave it away- he was a little hurt. "What are you even talking about, Estelle?"

I sighed. "We can't just…" Can't just what? I didn't even know what I was going to tell him. I didn't even know what we were doing. What I _did_ know, was that when we were alone, the boundaries were blurred. "We can't just be alone together, anymore." I knew I should give some sort of explanation. Vaguely, I waved my hands around. "Hormones. You know."

The corner of Blaise's mouth quirked up in a smile, and then twisted sharply down once again. "That makes sense." He said, sounding sulky. I sighed- I was too tired to deal with him now. There was nobody in the world who confused me as much as Blaise did. He was infuriating.

"I have to go to Potions." I told him, wishing I didn't feel like we were dodging around the major issues. "I'm probably already late."

Blaise cast a cursory glance at the clock at the front of the classroom. "If by 'late', you mean that you've missed three quarters of the lesson, then yes, you are late."

Most people would have panicked at that stage. But I knew better than to waste time with that, even if the only thing I wanted to do was run away I had to stay calm- Blaise was like a rabid dog in this situation, the best thing to do would be to keep him happy, and calm. "Oh." I said, with a resigned shrug. "I suppose I'd better get a move on, then." Already anticipating my upcoming battle with Snape, I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with the tip of my wand.

Blaise rolled his eyes, but held the door open for me like a true gentleman. And then, once outside, it truly was as though nothing had happened. The fireworks were still whizzing around, and students dawdled aimlessly along the corridors, pointing up at them and laughing.

Nobody stopped and pointed. Nobody was whispering about us from behind cupped hands. Nobody shouted 'hey! There's Zabini and Dahlquist- they just made out in a deserted classroom, and _both_ of them were sober!'

No, there was nothing like that. Our little moment, in which we had discovered a new facet of our relationship, had passed by without being noticed by a single other person.

Thank god.

I nodded goodbye to Blaise, and he inclined his head to me, and then we went our separate ways. And I can confidently say that neither of us felt as though there was _any_ unresolved business between us.

But then, we always seemed to be surer of each other and ourselves when there were other people around. Because when there were other people around, we had roles to play, and we could stick to those easily. But when it was just us, it was different. When it was just us, there was no need to play a part, and that freedom scared us both. We seemed to define ourselves and each other by how others saw us. We couldn't do that when we were alone together.

And that was when things got weird.

And _that_ was why we shouldn't be alone together. And wouldn't, from now on.

….

I refused to go home for the Easter Holidays.

Of course, I'd been firm about staying at Hogwarts over Christmas, too, and that had been ignored. But in those days- which felt like ages ago- I'd been complacent and weak. I hadn't realised that I was fighting anybody, so I hadn't made an effort.

But now things were different. I knew that I had to stay away from the Manor. I had avoided thinking about the Break out for months, I had never bothered to speculate on whom was behind it, either. But that was because the details were so unimportant to me. Whether it was You-Know-Who or Sirius Black, somebody had broken out those inmates, and it was the inmates that I was worried about.

Did it matter to me how they had gotten there? Not particularly.

All that mattered to me was that they _were_ there, and that I couldn't count on my guardians to protect me. What I had been avoiding confronting since the Christmas night was that Lucius and Narcissa cared more about their prejudices than the cared about my safety.

So, while I was still unable to hold my own in a fight, I had to stay somewhere where there were people who _would _consider my safety.

Without Dumbledore, the school wasn't as safe- even the Slytherins admitted that, and many of them half suspected that their parents were behind the break out. But Macgonnagal was still around, and so were Flitwick and Sprout, and even bumbling old Hagrid. They cared about the students.

So I had to stay right where I was.

My spellwork was improving so much, and I still practiced my Defence spells every night, but those inmates had such an air of power around them that I wanted to be sure I could protect myself.

I'd contacted Fred and George Weasley once more, congratulating them on their fireworks display and placing another order, and now I had a fifth year textbook to learn from, and a sixth year textbook spare. I had absolutely no money left, but at least I felt more confident in my abilities.

I was even trying more advanced spells, with mixed results. Sometimes I wished Harry would stroll by again and help me. But he never did.

I'm rambling now, but the point is, I would not be going home for Easter.

And I told Draco this in front of as many witnesses as possible.

….

"I'm staying here for Easter, and you _cannot_ stop me!"

Everybody looked a little flabbergasted, but then, it was a little unusual for a fourth year to jump up on the common room table and announce her holiday plans to the whole house.

Draco looked taken aback. Cautiously, he stood up, accidentally dumping a disgruntled Pansy onto the floor in the process. "Estelle- did you want to maybe get _down_ from there…."

"No." I folded my arms. "I'm not getting down til you _acknowledge_ that I am not going to the manor these holidays."

There was a long silence, during which Draco stared up at me, looking uncertain. "But_ I_ have to go home…" he said softly.

"You shouldn't." I told him primly. "Stay here with me."

"Well, we all know that you're a contrary soul." This from a bored looking Blaise, draped languidly across an armchair. "But did you want to explain exactly _why_ you want to stay at school for the holidays?"

I shrugged, "I just really love learning." I drawled.

"Try that once more," Blaise said sarcastically. "With _feeling_."

Oddly enough, despite their irritation with this whole situation, everybody was still waiting for my answer. We did love drama in the Slytherin house, and we loved gossip, because information is always useful. I should have known that this would turn into a spectator sport.

I considered. "I just can't stand to be apart from Filch for so long." I said, clapping a hand to my heart. "Sorry, Zabini- there's another man in my life, and he looks smoking with a cat clamped under his arm."

There was a burst of laughter, but Blaise just rolled his eyes. "Really, Estelle?" He looked utterly disdainful. "You're falling back on trite humour? Why stay in this hell hole when we could go home- _really_?"

Draco caught on instantly. "Yes, Estelle." He said loudly. "This place is _crawling_ with mudbloods- you'd better give me a good reason to stay here, or I refuse to let you!"

I let my mouth hand open for a second. "It isn't _up_ to you, Draco!" I hissed at him.

He sneered. "Then _why_ did you pull this stunt to get my approval?"

There was a long moment of silence as I tried to think of a plausible answer to that.

"Good question!" A first year piped up, and I shot them a furious glare.

"Shut it, shrimp." I snapped. Then turned back to face Draco. Clearly, he wasn't going to rest until he had a proper answer to his question. Already, he looked triumphant, because really what could I say? What reason could I give?

Not the truth, obviously. And that _was_ the only reason. I couldn't claim some sort of romance, because the people considered eligible were right there in the room with me, so Draco would be justified in saying 'no' just to stop me from dallying with some fictional, yet totally unworthy, Ravenclaw beau.

There was only one way out of this situation.

End it. Quickly.

Steeling myself, I scuffed my boots against somebody's essay, not breaking eye contact with Draco. "Bloody hell!" Somebody swore. Oops. Montague's essay. "Dahlquist, watch where you put your feet!"

"Sorry, Montague." I simpered, taking a step backwards.

"_Chyort voz'mi!_" I heard Aleksander Faustin curse in Russian. "You little shit! Look what you've done to my parchment!"

"Oh, _gosh_." I said, putting on a toffy English accent. "Sorry, old chap." Faustin glared up at me from under a fringe of dark hair. I was a little sorry to have pissed _him_ off, he was one of the best looking boys in the school. Deliberately, I took a step forwards, straight into Emmy Baltrise's inkwell.

"_Estelle!_" She shrieked. "Look what you did!"

"It's on my essay, too!" Montague snapped. And then, miraculously, it all went according to plan. "Draco, would you just _agree_ already- get your mental cousin off the table!"

There was a chorus of corresponding orders and pleas, and I watched Draco shift awkwardly under the pressure.

"Why would you want _this_ home, anyway!" Faustin waved a dismissive hand at me. I wasn't too offended, though, because he shot me a wink when Draco looked away. It's always nice to have an ally.

"Watch it, Faustin." I vaguely heard Blaise snap, but after one glance at his face, I knew that he wasn't protesting Faustin's words so much as his covert wink, which Blaise had somehow noticed.

Emmy Baltrise was more helpful. "She's mental, she's _crazy_- just Get. Her. Off!"

"Dahlquist, I love it when you stand on tables." I heard Marcus say sleazily from somewhere near my left ankle. Casually, I kicked his face out from under my skirt.

And through it all, Draco and I kept watching each other. Despite everybody shouting at him, he still looked uncertain, and I knew that he really didn't want to be home alone. Well, too bad. I was making a stand- what was stoping him from making one.

And then- then I won.

"Alright." Draco snapped. Instant silence. "Get off the table, Estelle- you can stay at school for the holidays." His sneer was a little hurtful, but I kept my dignity as in tact as I could when my left foot was covered in ink and I was clambering down off a table.

I walked right over to him. "You could stay with me, you know." I said softly.

He didn't even look at me. "Just- just go away, Estelle. Alright?"

I went.

….

The holidays were quiet. Almost my entire house went home. Only a handful of fifth, sixth and seventh years had stayed, and out of those, I only knew Aleksander Faustin, Elliot Pucey, Desdemona Rikers, Tracy Davis and Daphne Greengrass well enough to speak to. Of course, Draco- always suspicious- had left that select group of people with strict instructions to watch over me. Luckily, they were all so preoccupied with studying that I only _needed_ to see them at dinner, just to demonstrate that I was alive. They would wait for me in the Common room, and we'd have our food sent up. I'd be quizzed about my day for a few minutes, and then they'd resume studying.

So I was practically alone for all of Easter.

I didn't mind.

With the Common Room empty during the day (everybody who was _anybody_ studied in the library) I could practice spells in the comfort of my own dorm, and it was doing me good. At least twice I stayed inside all day, just shooting jinxes at the portraits. They'd always been too snooty for my liking. Not that my use of the common room to practice particularly improved out relationship. Lord Farrow's portrait was quite noticeably less cordial to me after I hit his frame with a stinging jinx

But sometimes I got sick of being inside. The weather was still cool, although it was early spring, and I loved the cold.

So I would walk around the grounds, enjoying the crisp air, and occasionally shooting hexes at the fauna. I knew that a number of students stayed at school for the holidays- especially the older ones who had OWLS and NEWTs coming up- but it was an easy thing to avoid them. Most people thought the weather was awful- there was all the cold of winter, but none of the snow- so they stayed inside as much as possible. And besides, the few Slytherins who were actually at Hogwarts were literally the only people in the school who would actually talk to me if our paths crossed, and they were frantically studying.

So I was sure I could go most holidays in solitude, with nothing to distract me from my thoughts.

Of course, I hadn't counted on Potter.

I met up with him behind the lake, just at the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. It was, yet again, a complete coincidence. I'd been skimming rocks, or rather, throwing rocks into the air, then firing curses at them, to see how good my aim was. It was amazing fun. I have no idea why no defence teacher had tried this method before- to me every rock was Bellatrix's head, and watching them shatter gave me a worrying thrill of glee. But it had been half an hour straight of that, by then, and if my shoulder wasn't hurting from constantly hurling rocks, I was definitely developing a massive headache from And then I'd seen Potter, sitting across the edge of lake, looking all uncharacteristically brooding and unhappy.

So I'd run over to meet him, my hair flying out in all directions. I waited til I was quite close to him, and then stopped. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed me approaching. He was still just sitting there, staring out at the water and looking deeply thoughtful.

Perhaps somebody else, somebody _nicer_, would have respected his right to privacy. They would have seen that he was thinking about something, and left him to it, smiling discreetly about how wonderful a person they are.

I'm not nice. So, instead of leaving, I crept closer, as quietly as I could. I waited til I was right behind him, and then flung myself down next to him, grinning like a lunatic.

He jumped a little, but his reaction was not what I'd thought it would be at all. He just looked at me for a moment, eyes so very tired, and then curled his mouth into a gentle little smile.

"Hello, Estelle." He said softly, looking back at the lake. "How are you?"

I gave him a nudge. "Fine. I've been practising- you know, my spell work." He nodded, so I continued. "I'm actually not too bad. I'm working off of some sixth year books now, so…."

"Have you tried Patronuses?"

I blinked, confused. "Hmnn, Potter?"

He turned to face me, looking thoughtful. "Patronuses. They'll be important- looks like the dementors are on Voldemort's side, and a patronus is the only thing that'll ever stop one of them."

For a moment, I considered telling him that I wasn't going to plan my study around his crazy delusions, but one look at his face made me pause. He looked serious, and worried. He looked as thought he sincerely believed that what he was telling me was important, and for some reason, I couldn't tear him down. So with a sigh, I pulled out a pen, and scrawled 'Patronus' on my hand.

"What's that?" Now Potter sounded bemused, nodding at my pen.

I shrugged, twirling it around my fingers. "What? Like you don't get sick of quills?" and then I paused. "Draco- gave me an art set for Christmas." I told him softly. "It had art pens in it. This is one."

He looked at me now, and his worried face was mostly gone. Instead, he looked considering. "You like art? Drawing and that?"

I nodded. "Yes. I don't do enough of it, though."

"And Malfoy _actually_ supports this?" He looked incredulous, and his face was full of that same supreme dislike which Draco always wore when he spoke about Potter

My shrug was noncommittal. "He _tolerates_ it." I corrected. "He got me the art set, but doesn't want to see any pictures. It's odd." And then, to my surprise, Potter had grabbed my hand, frowning at it. "Um- Potter?" I drawled. "I don't really go for all that palmistry crap."

He smiled. "No- I was just… well, you've spelt 'Patronus' wrong." He looked up at me, smiling kindly. "There's just the one 'o'- not another one before the 'u'."

I pulled my hand back, peering at it, then frowned. "Oh, who needs spelling, anyway?" I snapped. But then, as I reached down into the cold lake water to wash my hand, I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Potter." I said. "For helping me with this." He looked a little confused, and I grinned. "Not the spelling." I told him wryly. "The _spells_. The stunning spell before.. and now this."

He shrugged. "I should really have helped more." He told me. "I should have encouraged you- I used to think I ought to have invited you into Dumbledore's Army." Now he looked bemused again. "I'm sort of glad I didn't now, considering how it turned out, but at the time, I just wasn't sure what the others would think…"

I laughed. "That's what you were worried about?" I asked, flicking water at him. "What _people_ would think? You weren't worried that I might tell Umbridge on you?"

Now _he_ laughed. "You would _never_." He said. "Don't be stupid. Even if I'd asked you before we were friends, you wouldn't have." My smile faded a little when he said the word 'friends', and he must've noticed, because he sighed and grabbed my hand. "Estelle." He said, seriously. "We _are_ friends."

The moment was so sweet and tender that I instinctively felt the need to ruin it. "Yes, alright, alright." I sniffed, pulling my hand away. "No need to get so emotional." I shot him a sly look. "Bloody Gryffindors."

He grinned. "Dumb Slytherins." And then. "I'm glad that you're not at the manor for Easter."

I could have snapped at him, but suddenly, I didn't have the energy. "Me too." I said, leaning down on my clasped hands and frowning. "I don't really know what I would've done if they'd made me go." And then, I turned to look at him, taking in how tired and sad he looked.

He'd looked fairly drawn for the entire year, I knew, but now it seemed to be worse. He looked as if he'd been shaken to his core by something. With a sigh, I pulled my hair over my shoulder and frowned at him. "What's wrong with you at the moment, Potter?"

I didn't really expect him to answer- I know I wouldn't have, but as per usual, I was wrong about him.

"I don't know how my parents died." Harry said softly. I wondered absently when I'd stopped thinking of him as 'Potter'. "Well, I mean, I do know- everybody does. But I didn't see it." He frowned. "I didn't know it and I didn't know _them_."

I stayed stock still beside him. I knew that he was opening up to me (and part of me cursed myself for encouraging that sort of behaviour) and that meant that I would have to 'be there' for him- but I honestly had no idea what he was talking about. What sort of conversation was I encouraging? "What do you mean?"

He threw a pebble angrily at the lake, and it skimmed across a few steps. "I saw something, recently." He told me. "It made me… question… the type of person my father was." I said nothing. Harry (I mean _Potter_) would tell me if he wanted to. There was no point encouraging or discouraging him- he so rarely paid any attention to my advice. It was, I knew, unlikely that he'd share anything that tarnished the reputation of the estimable Potter senior with me anyway.

But then he sighed and turned to face me. "I saw that he… bullied somebody. Badly, and for no reason." He paused. "And that my mum hated him." Another pause, and then he said, somewhat conciliatorily. "I didn't see your mum- sorry. I _did_ look for her, but she wasn't in that memory."

Blinking in confusion, I waved a hand dismissively. "That's.. that's fine. You're not obligated to look out for my mother." And then, with a little bit of malice rising, I asked. "They were bullying Snape, weren't they?"

Reluctantly, Harry (Potter!) nodded. I couldn't help but grin. "Good." I said viciously. "I knew it. I _knew_ something had happened to make him such a bastard."

Harry looked to me in confusion. "What? You think it's my father's fault that he turned out like he is? And not only _my_ father, but _your _fa….." I waited, leaning my hands on my laced fingers to hear the end of his sentence. But Harry floundered, confused. "Your… I mean, _you're_ certain that Snape isn't a good person?"

I nodded patronisingly. "Fairly certain, Potter." I told him, and he sighed.

"But it's my _father's_ fault." He said, dropping his head in his hands.

"Please, Potter." I said. "You have no idea what Snape's life was like _before_ your father came onto the scene. And I'm fairly certain that he would always have been a terrible, unhygienic little snake." I folded my arms, disgruntled. "And I can't imagine him as _anything_ else."

Harry shot me a reproving look, but didn't disagree. But he still looked unhappy. "My father was so horrible to him, Estelle." He said sadly. "And everybody says that I'm _just_ like my father. I used to love that, but should I _want_ to be like that?"

I stretched my legs out in front of me. "If you decide you _do_ want to be like that, it's easy being a bully. I'll get Draco and his cronies to give you a few lessons- just pick somebody weak." I considered. "I'd suggest a hufflepuff."

Harry looked scandalised for a moment before he realised that I was joking. Even then, he didn't look happy. "You don't understand." He said sadly. "I've idolised this man my whole life, and now…."

That seemed foolish, but I didn't think I should tell him that. I was so terrible at this sort of thing… I reined in my natural impulses, clearing my throat. "It's hard, when you don't know your parents." I agreed. "But… oh, I don't know. Are you really going to judge your father on one little moment when he was our age?" I shot him a sideways look. "He _was_ our age, right? He wasn't bullying Snape when they were both in their 30s?"

"He didn't _live_ to be thirty." Harry said darkly.

Awkward. "Well then. One moment, when a young idiot got carried away and did something awful." I shrugged. "It isn't excusable, but it isn't any reason to condemn him, surely?"

"You didn't see it." Harry said, sounding terribly morose. "My dad was so horrid."

This was why I hated comforting people. They'd already made up their minds what to think, and it was your job to sit there and be ignored until they decided to feel good about themselves again. I honestly had _no _ idea why I had began this conversation.

"Alright." I agreed. "I _didn't_ see it. And maybe your father is the most horrible human ever to walk the planet. Maybe he tortured small animals and stole lollies from children. Maybe he switched all the sugar with salt and ruined pudding on Halloween." Now, despite himself, Harry was smiling. "I don't think he would do such heinous things." I said knowingly. "But even if he did, who says it means _you're_ going to be like him? Have _you_ ever bullied anybody?"

Harry shook his head. "Well, _no_, but you don't.."

"No." I agreed. "I _don't_ understand. Why does who your father was really matter? I have no idea who mine was. Maybe _he_ was the one stealing lollies and ruining dessert. I don't think it has any impact on me."

Now Harry looked inexplicably amused, like he was sharing a joke with himself. "You don't think you're like your father?"

I shrugged. "No idea." And then. "Anyway, what do _other_ people say about your father?" I asked, and Harry frowned.

"Why do you ask?" he said, looking confused.

I shrugged again. "Well, it seems foolish to judge him by _one_ relationship- with Snape, nonetheless. What do his old friends say about him? What do people who knew him say?"

There was a pause, and I thought perhaps Harry was thinking about that, thinking about what people said about his father. But then, in an abrupt subject change, he said instead. "Tell me about your mum, Estelle." Harry looked earnest, and even though I knew he just didn't want to talk about his father any more, I found myself agreeing.

"My mother?" I asked with a little smile. "My mother…" I closed my eyes. "I was only young, but the impression I had of my mother was that she was too bright for this world. She was intense, and mental, and absolutely fearless."

Harry grinned. "Like you?"

I laughed. "I'm nowhere near as cool as she was." I told him, leaning forwards in my enthusiasm. "She used to pick me up from school. "I considered. "Well, when I actually went, wearing huge combat boots, ripped tights and oversized coats. Her eyes were always smudgy and dark, and her hair would always be this mess of tangles, with a hat jammed down on top."

He smiled. "You sound like a story book." He told me. Feeling self conscious, I paused, leaning back in my seat, my hands falling limply back into my lap. His smile turned into a laugh. "No, Estelle- keep going. I want to hear about her."

I sighed, thinking back on what I'd told Draco, when he'd first asked.

"She would wave to me, and the other mothers would curl their lips as I ran to her. She'd always pick me up and swing me around, laughing." My lips curled into the smallest of smiles. "Every time she saw me, it was like we'd been apart for a long time, and she'd missed me more than anything."

I could hear Harry chuckling to himself. "She sounds really amazing." He said, but I could hear in his voice that same note of sadness that I could hear in my own, and I realised then that Harry was, like me, just a kid who never had the opportunity to properly know their parents. He was just a kid like me, who would take what he could get, and perhaps it was that understanding which made me continue- made me tell him more than I'd told Draco. More than I'd told anybody.

Because if he was having doubts about his own father's perfection, he deserved to hear about _Maman_'s problems.

"You're not wrong." I said softly. "Yes, my mother burned bright. She was wonderful and defiant. She was beautiful and wild." I paused, wondering if I could do this, but then, even as I was doubting that I would, I began to speak. "But she was sad."

Harry was respectfully quiet, but I knew that he was still listening. Clenching my hands into fists, I continued, my voice almost a whisper. "I was a child, then, and even I saw it so clearly that it was like a.. a knife in my gut. Sometimes, she'd cry wildly, cursing a man she never named and weeping bitterly into her clenched fists."

I knew I must sound stupid, waxing lyrical about my mother. But I could see it _so_ clearly. And if this was the first time that I told anybody about it, I wanted them to be able to see it, too. I wanted them to be able to see her.

And then, suddenly, I felt self-conscious. It was like I was floating somewhere above my head, watching myself _confide_ in Harry Potter, like a complete lunatic. I couldn't believe it- but I couldn't stop myself.

Now Harry _did_ interrupt. "Who was he?" He asked, voice hushed like at a funeral.

I shrugged. "She wouldn't tell me about him, but I knew that he was bad. She'd cry for other people." I frowned. "Her friends, I suppose. And she'd call them by name. But she would never name that one man, the one she wept for the most. The one she hated so much, and loved so much." I shot him a sideways looks. "My father, I'm assuming." I said dryly.

There was an oddly taut silence, and I wondered if Harry was somehow upset by my story. When I chanced a look at him, he was staring intently at his hands.

"Do you remember the names?" He asked, and I thought perhaps the question was important to him.

Slowly, reluctantly, I shook my head. "No." I said honestly. "I was only little. And it _scared_ me."

He looked up at me, and his eyes were full of empathy. "Was she really sad so often?" He asked.

I looked away. "More often, she'd go through periods of melancholic rage, if there is such a thing." I tried to smile, but faltered. "Sometimes when she looked at me, I could tell that it wasn't my face she was seeing." I could tell that Harry was concerned by that information, and instantly I turned to him, trying to reassure him. "She usually knew when she was sinking into one of those moods." I said, putting a hand on his arm. "She'd become withdrawn, and stare out the window, digging her nails into the sill so hard that she'd gouge the wood. And then she'd look at me with that odd, blank stare." I sighed, remembering. "It didn't frighten me so much as make me sad. Because it was clear to me then that she was in pain."

He still looked worried, and I knew he was afraid I'd tell him some story of neglect and hurt. I vaguely remembered that he'd grown up with relatives- muggles, Draco had said- who were cruel to him. Suddenly, it became important to me that he knew my mother wasn't like that.

"But then," I said firmly, "her blank stare would crack, and she'd see _me_ instead of whoever else she was thinking about, and she'd pack a bag quick smart and deposit me over at Monsieur Tonton's house, next door."

Harry started in confusion. "Mr.. Mr who?"

And suddenly, somehow, I was laughing. "I don't know his real name. I couldn't pronounce it, so I made one up." I smiled shyly, a little embarrassed by this admission of my childishness. It was odd to think of myself as a child, and I hated that anybody else did. But Harry was smiling too, and not in a mean way. I explained further. "He was a sweet man, ancient and gruff and grumpy as anyone could ever be. But he'd never ask questions- he'd just take my hand, grumble, and drag me inside."

But then my story would have to get sad again. I sighed, and Harry must've felt the mood change, because his smile faded a little. "Even though we could hear my mother moving around in the apartment next door, he'd never take me back across. He'd just sigh and make me pancakes and complain about how youth made people crazy."

"Did you stay with him long?" Harry prompted. "I mean- how long would she leave you there?"

For a moment, I felt a little insulted- as though he were criticising my mother. But he wasn't, not really. He was just curious. And worried about my five-year-old self. "My mother would turn up a few days later, all joyful smiles and flashing eyes, and I'd hug her like she'd been away for years." I smiled again, I couldn't help it, remembering the way she'd laugh and hold me so close. "Monsieur Tonton would roll his eyes and growl about 'stupid children', but when I hugged him goodbye, he'd ruffle my hair and pat my cheek"

I stayed quiet for a while, and then Harry asked tentatively, "so- that's it?"

I shrugged. "That's it. That was my life for five years." I shot a look his way, suddenly terrified of what he was thinking. "I know it sounds hard, and cruel and inconsistent." I said, hating that it seemed like I was apologising. "Perhaps it was, but it was _mine_, and my mother's. And that was plenty for me."

Now there really _was_ a silence. A long one, perhaps several minutes, where Harry and I both sat there, lost in our own thoughts and listening to the world around us.

Eventually, I broke it. "Do you know why I told you that, Potter?" I asked.

He didn't even need to think. "Because you needed to tell _someone_." He said, with easy certainty, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I was shocked for a while then, and I had to mask that shock very carefully. His answer was far too accurate, and completely different to the one I'd been planning on giving him. Was it possible that he knew me that well? "No." I said carefully. "I told you that so you would know." He looked up at me, and for the millionth time, I was caught off guard by the brilliance of his eyes. "People aren't perfect." I said with a small smile. "So our parents can't be either. People are good, and people are bad- you can't always separate the two. Potter, we can't idolise our parents- it isn't fair on _them_."

He looked away. "Thank you, Estelle." He said honestly. "For… for talking to me."

I should have been aloof. I should have been condescending. Instead, as I stood up, preparing to be a bitch, I found myself saying. "Thank you, Harry. For listening."

He glanced up at me in shock, and I realised too late that I'd called him by his first name. But what the hell? He'd been calling me Estelle since before we'd even met. So I just raised an eyebrow, as though daring him to call me up on it, and he grinned.

With that, I turned to leave, but Harry called after me. "Estelle!" I turned back to face him, my robes billowing around me in the wind, my hair snarling into tangles just like the ones I'd said _Maman_ had. He was standing now, too, looking a little awkward. "Estelle." He repeated, and I tried not to roll my eyes. "Estelle, your mum sounds really amazing."

I froze. Hearing him say it again, after hearing the worst of her, struck a chord within me. Perhaps I had always feared that if I told people, they would mock her, or tell me I was better off without that crazy in my life. Perhaps I just needed to hear from somebody else that all my love for my mother hadn't been misplaced. Whatever the reason, at the sound of Harry's heartfelt statement, I felt a prickle behind my eyes that I hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. But I didn't like to cry- and I wouldn't cry in front of anybody. So I just nodded to Harry, as though his words had meant very little to me, and then turned around and ran away, hoping that by the time I got back to the Slytherin dorms for dinner, I would be able to muster a halfway contemptuous facial expression.

Otherwise the others would know that something was up.

Xxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Sorry about how long it's been, everybody! More computer troubles.. but as you can see, this was a massively long chapter. Not sure about it, personally- experienced some serious writer's block- but here it is.

Now, first up thank you all so so much for all your reviews! Especially to the people like **Kristaniella **and **.x**, who don't usually review- that means a lot!

This is going to be a massive author's note, because I'm going to address some questions- sorry, you don't have to read if you didn't ask anything, although, feel free!

….

Okay, here goes. Thank you for putting in the effort to ask questions and to say what you think, I actually don't mind explaining myself at all, and it makes me pay more attention to detail.. .

I'm not sure if protocol dictates that I should email you answers to your questions, but my email on this doesn't work anyway, so here we go.

**Mask with a truth** :

Hi, thank you so much for your reviews (loving the extra one- that was really nice) and also for your advice! I'm going to change the title now, and then I shall try and think of a new summary. You're exactly right about the grammar and punctuation- I try to proofread my stuff, and I can't believe I missed that! Thanks for picking it up!

**kristaniella** :

Thank you for your review, and for your offer of translating stuff for me. I speak a little Italian, but no French so I've been falling fairly heavily back on Google.  
>Unfortunately, my email account here isn't working, but I may take you up on your offer if I can fix it.<p>

**Dazzled-Midnight-Melody** :

Thanks again for your thoroughness! It's great to get such in-depth reviews, and it's great knowing what you think.

I can assure you that you do _not_ need to worry about Draco and Estelle being anything close to a couple. As I've said before, I don't really plan things too well, so perhaps, if it seems likely later on in the story, I might have some of the other characters (eg: Lucius, Bellatrix) thinking along those lines, but neither Draco, nor Estelle feel that way. They're practically brother and sister.

Unfortunately – although they would be an adorable couple- I also won't be having Estelle involved in any serious way with Fred _or_ George. This is for a few simply reasons.  
>(1) they're leaving the school in the next two chapters- she simply doesn't have the time to get to know them, and even though she is- on some level – open to the friendship, they certainly wouldn't be. From reading the books, it's fairly clear that the Weasley boys cart around some prejudice, too, although often rightfully so. Estelle is Malfoy's cousin <em>and<em> a Slytherin. They wouldn't touch her.  
>(2) Estelle is Ginny's age, so a full three years younger than the twins. At least for the moment, it would be hard for them to see her in that light. This may change- it all depends on the interaction between them later on.<br>(3) I could never choose between them. She'd have to have both, and that'd be just plain silly =P

Now, onto Blaise. Yeah, I know he's a complete pain in the arse. And it _does_ seem out of character for Estelle to let somebody take advantage of her. As a matter of fact, we know she doesn't really take well to unwanted male attention (her father would be proud). But here's a little footnote: despite all appearances, Blaise wasn't setting out to take advantage of her. He _does_ like her- she's exactly right. And his 'I am possessive of the Slytherin girls' was just, on his part, a last minute coverup. Blaise has terrible commitment issues, and is generally a screwed up little person, but his feelings for her (and hers for him- we can't deny, they have history _and_ chemistry) will become a bit of a thing in this story- I'm sorry if you don't like that!

As per people's requests, I am going to put more of Harry in here. I didn't mean to make him different from the books. You're right when you say that he wasn't as girl obsessed. In fact, he was baffled by girls. But I think when he starts off with Estelle, he's trying to befriend her rather than start anything with her, so that makes him a little more sure of himself. He knows where he stands with her, sometimes more than she knows. And if he seems less preoccupied with saving the world, it's only because I can't imagine anybody thinking about that all the time. He talks to Ron and Hermione about that stuff- Estelle knows none of that stuff, so with her, Harry can be a normal teenager. She isn't going to judge him, or tell him to concentrate on more important things. So he can bitch to her about being off the quidditch team, and talk to her about parents, without feeling like he's being immature, because what the issues which Ron and Hermione might rightfully consider less important than say, Occlumency, are to Estelle as important as issues get.


	13. Chapter 13

Perhaps I was in denial, or maybe I'm just optimistic at heart, but when I trooped down to the Dungeons on the very last day of my holidays, I honestly wasn't expecting it to be full.

Of course, when I rounded the corner, I was confronted by the eerie sight of my peers, lounging silently in the common room. They were utterly still and completely silent- nobody was talking or moving, I felt like I'd walked in on some sort of freaky practical joke.

The second I entered, everybody turned to look at me, and I – epitome of elegance and grace- froze like a fox in the headlights.

"I didn't do it." I said, almost automatically, and heard Pansy scoff condescendingly from somewhere within the sea of people.

The reality of the situation was somewhat less creepy than it first seemed. The train had just gotten in, and everybody had come upstairs and collapsed, exhausted and dreading school beginning again.

I'd happened to walk in during a lull in the conversation.

_All_ the conversations.

That's what they told me. I suspected something different. No matter how many times Carmeline laughed at me and told me I was being paranoid. No matter how often Blaise rolled his eyes, no matter how many times Pansy assured me that I was just imagining things because I was a hyperactive idiot, I knew that something was up.

But nobody would say what.

Draco was being odd, too. I'd expected him to be ignoring me, still stroppy about my defiance at the end of term, but instead he was simply cool. He wished me a Happy Easter, chastised me for not writing, and gave me my Easter eggs.

"Mother and Father were sad not to see you." He told me, sounding rather detached. "They send their love- and this." He stretched out a hand, holding it in the air, and so I, feeling a little like I was being lured into a trap, held my hand out underneath his, squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation of whatever he was going to give me.

It was a little Easter egg- about the size of a duck egg and bright green, with a silver ribbon tied around it.

"Pretty." I said, smiling brightly. "Yum."

"Yes, well." He sniffed. "You can't _eat_ it. It's an ornament." I blinked in confusion, and he sighed. "It's made of porcelain. Hand crafted by a Venetian Wizard named Paolo di Terra. Collectible. And apparently enchanted to glow slightly whenever it gets close to Easter."

"Oh. Very nice." I grinned happily, reflecting on the snobbish tendencies of my foster parents. And then my smile faded. "Listen, Drake…" I closed my hand around the egg. "I wanted to ask what happened over Easter- was it alright?"

He'd paused, looking away from me for a moment, and then gathered himself again. Very slowly, he met my eyes. "It would've been better." He told me, "if you had been there, like you were meant to be."

I frowned contemplatively. "Better for _whom_, Draco?" I asked cautiously. But he just turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Crabbe and Goyle to jog to catch up to him.

"Oh dear." I heard Blaise drawl from behind me. "You've managed to upset Draco. Again."

I swung around, glaring at him. "Shut it, Zabini." I hissed.

He shrugged languidly, casually reaching out to flick my hair off of my shoulders. "Don't get upset with me for pointing out the obvious." He said condescendingly. "Whichever first year he terrorises has _you_ to thank." And then he adopted a thoughtful expression. "Al_though_, it might be Potter he attacks. _That_ might put a dampener on your relationship."

It was difficult not to punch him, but I managed. "Gee." I said, laying the sarcasm on as thick as I could. "I wonder what could possibly put a dampener on _our_ relationship, Zabini? Is there anything in the world to make it even less fun than it already is?"

He just smiled at me. "I'm actually quite content with our relationship right now, Estelle." He said, quite calmly. "Knowing that you _want_ me really makes me feel like we have a bond."

Again- although punching him was my instinctive response- I restrained myself.

"I want lots of things, Zabini." I said, as sweetly as I could. "Right now, for instance, I have a craving for chicken. Yesterday, all I could think about was this gorgeous dress that Daphne was wearing, which would look _so_ much better on me." I turned to look at him, blinking innocently. "But somehow, I just can't remember a time where I wanted _you_."

And then, with a cutesy little half curtsy, I loped off.

I met Carmeline half way up the Common Room stairs. She smiled at me, but seemed uncomfortable, and if I hadn't grabbed her arm, she would've run right past me.

"Carmeline!" I said, reproachfully. "You're not getting away that easily."

She shifted in my grip, from foot to foot, as though she were standing on hot coals. "Hey, Elle!" She said. "How was your holiday?"

I looked at her shrewdly. Her hair was unkempt, and she looked as though she hadn't been sleeping. "Better than yours, I'm guessing." I said honestly, and pulled her downstairs, into a cosy alcove far from the others. "Alright- what's going on?"

To my surprise, she burst into tears.

….

I was never very good at comforting people. I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, avoiding meeting her gaze. "Carmeline?" I asked tentatively. She let out a particularly loud sob, and I quickly drew back the hand I'd placed on her shoulder. "Okay. Okay, calm down, Carmy! What's _wrong_?"

Frantically, she waved her hands around her head, as though she were warding off some of Luna's famous narglies, or whatever. "Oh, nothing! I'm fine. I'm really.. really f-f-fine."

Sighing, I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. "Seriously?" I asked condescendingly. "You're actually going to stick with _that_ answer, are you?"

"I can't tell you, Estelle." She said, wiping at the mascara under her eyes. "Draco said specifically that you shouldn't be told- and everybody else agreed."

I frowned. "Everybody?" I asked softly, and Carmeline nodded.

"Oh, yes, _everybody_. Blaise, and Eli and Daphne. Greg and Vince, too- and they never say _anything_. Theo thought we should tell you, but nobody else _trusts_ you."

I froze. Theodore _Nott._ Eli _Dolohov_. Gregory _Goyle_. Vincent _Crabbe_. Carmeline _Burke_ and of course, Draco _Malfoy_. "This is something to do with the death eaters, isn't it?" I asked softly, and she hissed.

"Don't say it, Estelle." She said, sounding tearful again. "please don't."

I stepped closer to her. "Carmeline, what is going on? I don't understand…"

"Of _course_ you don't!" She wailed. "Nobody knows who _your_ father is, and your mum ran away and hid in France like a coward at the beginning of the war- you have nothing to worry about! You don't even know what's going on!"

I only heard half of her outburst. "My mother wasn't _hiding_." I snapped at her. "And she wasn't a coward!"

Carmeline gave a mean little laugh. "That's what _you_ say." She said viciously. "But why else would she leave half way through the war?" She looked away. "Face it, Estelle. Your mum freaked out and ran somewhere safe."

I gaped like a fish for a few moments before I pulled myself back together. "She- she wasn't _hiding_, _Maman_ was brave!"

"Yeah." Carmeline hissed. "Really brave. So brave that she left her friends to die!"

I almost slapped her. "You're making things up now, Carmeline." I said as sweetly as I could. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Again, she laughed. "No, _you_ have no idea!" I knew she wouldn't say these things normally. She was weeping and laughing all at once- she was terrified and stressed. She was manic. "You think I haven't seen that photo that little Gryffindor creep gave you?" She leaned in close, giving me a frightening view of her bloodshot eyes. "Your mum was friends with the Potters- that man in the photo looks _just like_ Potter- it doesn't take a genius to work it out."

"So?" I snapped. "Just because _your_ parents didn't have friends…."

"Oh, give _up_, Estelle." Carmeline half yelped. "You know what I'm saying. You've known that your mother was a coward since Creepy Creevy gave you the photo." I wanted to block my ears, but instead I held her gaze bravely. _Maman_ would want me to face down these charges. "Your precious mum was friends with the Potters and all those other misfits, probably. But did she fight alongside them? No. She _left_ them, Estelle. She ran off to France and left all her friends to die."

"You know that isn't true…" I protested, but Carmeline cut me off.

"Her family were probably Death Eaters- she was a Dahlquist, after all- but she didn't stay for _them_ either. She left both her family and friends without so much as a 'good luck'. And, they _died_." She laughed once more. "Honestly, Estelle, did she even have enough spine to _pick_ a side in that war, or did she just run straight away?"

If I were a proper young lady, who dressed well and was polite, this next scene wouldn't have happened.

But I'm not.

So I shoved Carmeline hard against the wall and, she shrieked and pulled at my hair, and we ended up having a cat fight right there and then. I scratched at her eyes, and she dug her nails into my arm. She ripped out a hank of my hair and I punched her in the face.

And then, finally, somebody thought to pull us off each other.

"You stupid _slut_!" Carmeline yelled. "Just like your coward mum!"

"Well, _this_ coward just beat the _crap_ out of you." I called back, fighting against whoever had grabbed me from behind. "_Putain_!"

I could see that Blaise was struggling to keep a hold of Carmeline, who was putting up a reasonable fight considering that I'd probably fractured her arm. I almost snorted in amusement- of course Blaise was holding her- he was probably trying to get a nice feel.

"Hey, calm it, Dahlquist. Stop writhing." Oh god. So it was _Pucey_ who'd grabbed me. "You're getting me all excited."

I grimaced, turning away from Carmeline to glare at him. "That's _feral_, Pucey." I snapped. And he shrugged, unapologetic. Of course, he was just joking.

"It distracted you pretty well, though, didn't it?" He grinned. I wanted to punch him.

"You can let go of her now, Pucey." Blaise called from across the room sounding irritated, and I became suddenly aware of where Pucey's hands had slipped to. I stomped on his foot and freed myself from his grasp.

We stared awkwardly at each other. "You, uh, need the nurse?" He asked, scratching at the back of his head. "Or did you.. I don't know… you could lie down for a bit….? My dorm is free…."

"I'm not sleeping with you, Pucey." I said instantly.

He gave a wry grin. "Yeah, guess you probably wouldn't be in the mood." I wondered if he was actually going to take me to the infirmary like he'd said, but instead he just waved a hand at me and laughed. "You're a wildcat, Dahlquist. Take care." And sauntered off, leaving me bleeding slightly and completely alone on the stairwell.

I glanced up. Blaise and Carmeline were gone. He'd probably taken her to the sick room. Annoyed, I wondered how long it would take before he got into her pants, too. That thought irritated me more than I cared to admit. In any case, if Blaise had taken Carmeline to the infirmary then it would be better if I waited a while before heading that way myself.

Already frustrated, I trooped back up the stairs, heading for the bathrooms and ignoring the gossip which was already starting around me. For a while anyway, But when I finally reached the bathrooms, Millicent Bulstrode was standing in front of the door.

Wonderful. Another cat fight.

"Move, Bulstrode." I said tiredly.

She gave me a stupid grin and crossed her beefy arms. "Nice look you're rocking there, Dahlquist." She sneered. "Like what you've done with your face. Really…. Puffy."

"Please let me through, Bulstrode." I said. "Really, I don't want to walk around like this all day."

She started laughing. And laughing. And laughing….

"Not so pretty now, Dahlquist." She laughed.

Furious, I tromped _back_ down the stairs. And right into Blaise.

"Nice pout you've got going there." He drawled.

I scowled and looked away from him. "Bulstrode won't let me into the bathroom." I grumbled, realising for the first time that my lip was swollen. Oh. So _that_ was 'puffy'. _That_ was my 'pout'. My scowl morphed into a less dignified grimace. "Split lip?" I asked, grimacing and pointing to my face.

Blaise's eyes skimmed over my face, and he nodded slowly. "Split lip. Scratch marks." He smiled. "But you look better than Carmeline. You clawed her face fairly impressively. And she has the beginnings of a wonderful black eye. Your punch must be terrifying."

I pouted even more. "Well, I'm sure Madame Pomfrey fixed _her_ right up." I snapped. "I'll head there now if you think the coast is clear."

Blaise nodded again. "What did you two fight about?"

"None of your business." I snapped, suddenly sick of talking, and sick of him. Why didn't he just ask Carmeline, anyway? She was the one he chose to help. "I'm heading to the hospital wing." I told him tiredly, running a hand through my hair and wincing as my fingers brushed the section where Carmeline had ripped out a few curls. "Carmeline talks a lot of shit, but she fight like a trooper."

He grinned a little. "Oh, well. I think you held your own fairly well." He said. "Whatever you fought about, she'll think twice before she brings it up again."

I nodded slowly. "She'd better." I said darkly, and I meant it.

_Maman_ was the only parent I'd ever known, and I couldn't afford to doubt her.

And by bringing up the questions which I'd fought so hard to ignore since the moment I heard about the wizarding war, Carmeline had compromised my faith in the only role model I had.

I couldn't let that continue.

That, I wouldn't be able to handle.

….

Breakfast the next morning was not as awkward as I'd assumed it would be.

Or not at first, anyway.

Although Pomfrey refused to heal less serious injuries as punishment for not ratting on Carmeline, muggle concealer had fixed most of my problems. The only clear issue was my split lip, which was more difficult to conceal that I'd anticipated.

Looking at myself in the mirror the next morning, I seriously considered just going downstairs as I was- elegant claw mark down my eyebrow and vivid split lip. I considered just pulling my hair back, and not bothering with any makeup, as if to say 'yeah, this is me. I'm a mess. Care to comment?'.

But then, people wouldn't look at me and see somebody who was making a statement- they'd see me as somebody who was falling apart.

So with a sigh, I pulled out my eyeliner and set to work.

When I walked downstairs, half an hour later, nobody would have suspected that I'd been punching one of my best friends' faces in not 12hours earlier.

A simple spell (ironically, Carmeline had taught it to me) had evened out my skin tone, hiding the scratch marks a little. My eyes were smudgy with liner, and I was wearing lipgloss. My cheeks looked rosy, and my eyes looked massive and luminous. I'd worn my hair down, and for once I hadn't messed it up _too_ much, so it was hanging in shiny ringlets down my back.

I thought I looked very wholesome and sweet.

Of course, no matter how sweet I looked, I couldn't stop the stares. All of the Slytherins knew about my fight with Carmeline, and the younger students weren't quite as adept at being subtle as the older students , so they were whispering obviously behind their hands, and gazing at me in awe.

The older years had the right idea, though. Scorn. Oodles of scorn. I was filth. I was trash. I was something icky that they'd pulled off the bottom of their shoe.

After all, I'd attacked one of our own. No matter what, Slytherins stuck together- in our own, self interested way, we were just as loyal as Gryffindors. And we _never_ punched each other. _Ever_. And so, I became a temporary pariah.

But no matter how my housemates reacted, there was one common element- exclusivity. None of the other houses knew- not one. This had happened in _our_ common room, with _our_ students, and about _our_ families- the rest of the school would not be involved. At all. So, while some students may have known that something was going on, nobody was a hundred percent sure of what it was, who it involved or when it had happened. After all, we'd just come back from holidays- whatever had all the Slytherins whispering could have happened at home.

And then, of course, was the fact that not all of the students knew, as I discovered when I took a seat at the Slytherin table, next to Daphne Greengrass.

"And _so_, I think I deserve another pancake, after that mess!" Daphne was saying primly, forking said pancake with a tangible air of self-righteousness.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, boys are complete rats, it's true. But I'm not going to eat more just because Draco is being so odd lately!" Daphne made a face, and Pansy nodded enthusiastically. "Seriously, Daph!" She cried, placing her hands mournfully on her stomach. "I have to go on a diet after everything I ate at Easter. If I eat my feelings, I'll be the size of a Hippogriff in no time, and I can't allow Draco to make me fat as well as unhappy."

"No!" Daphne whined. "No, you're so _thin_!"

"No _you're_ so thin!" Pansy wailed.

"Personally, I think the pair of you have a little bit of a weight problem." I said sweetly, and they both turned to me, their eyes narrowed to slits.

"Oh, look who it is." Pansy flicked open her newspaper with a sigh, as though she was having a very intellectual morning, and was not at _all_ involved in any childishness. "Slytherin's very own misfit."

"Morning, Parkinson." I said evenly, sitting down. How was it possible that she hadn't called me up on my catfight yet? "Tell me, is it _difficult_ trying to work out what those articles are about, when the only part of the newspaper you understand is the pretty moving pictures?"

"Bite me." She answered coolly, turning the page.

I considered it, I seriously did. But no, that couldn't be hygienic. Nobody ever knew where Pansy had been.

"Estelle." I looked up to see Draco taking a seat next to Pansy. I began to smile at him, ready to say 'hello', when he started to talk. "Carmeline tells me that you cornered her yesterday."

What? Draco didn't even know everything yet? Perhaps I'd overestimated the importance of my scuffle if nobody had even thought to spread it around..

"What?" Pansy squealed, slamming her newspaper down. "A fight? I didn't know you'd been in a fight!" By my side, Daphne clapped a hand over her mouth in awe and horror.

I blinked, innocently. "Hmn? Me? _Fight_ somebody?" I shook my head and laughed casually. "Oh, no. _Never_."

"Hey, Estelle." Marcus passed me by with a nod and a wink. "Your lip looks better today- but I like a girl who likes it rough."

"Thanks for helping, Marcus." I called cheerfully. He shot me a happy salute and casually tripped up a passing Hufflepuff second year.

For a moment, I watched them both scramble to their feet- Marcus was such a loser he'd actually managed to trip himself _as well_ as the second year. They parted with awkward shrugs and uncomfortable smiles of acknowledgement.

Smiling, I turned back to Draco, who was watching me impassively. "Carmeline has a black eye." He told me, deadpan. "Pomfrey wouldn't cure it unless Carmeline told her what had happened, and she refused. It's a rather impressive shade of blue."

"What?" Pansy shrieked. "You gave Burke a _black eye_?" Poor Pansy- so thirsty for gossip.

I smiled sweetly at Draco, bypassing Pansy entirely. "What can I say?" I asked, viciously stabbing a sausage. "I'm an artistic soul- I like things to be colourful."

Draco looked unimpressed. "I'd appreciate it." He said slowly. "If fact, _we'd_ appreciate it, if you stayed out of things which don't involve you."

"Which things?" Pansy whispered excitedly, leaning across the table. "What did you fight about?" And then. "Was it Estelle's inability to dress well? The way her makeup looks like it was put on by a toddler with crayons?" She leaned even closer. "Estelle, did you sleep with somebody hideous _again_?"

My sausage was really going to suffer if they kept making me mad. I chopped it up into tiny pieces with rapid stroked of my knife. "Who decided that it involves _you_ but not _me_?" I asked, ignoring Pansy, who leaned back, disgruntled.

"You decided that, Estelle." Draco answered, and his voice sounded cold. "Or don't you remember?" A pause, and then. "Stop mashing up your sausage like that- didn't anybody tell you not to play with your food?"

"What did she decide? What do you remember?" Pansy was nearly wetting herself with excitement, but she was beginning to sound annoyed. "_Please_ tell me something!"

Rapidly, it became clear to me that honesty was the best method to go by in this situation. "You've made me very angry." I said, mashing the sausage with even more gusto. "I wish that all this stuff with our families _wasn't_ happening- I've made that clear. But it _is_ happening, and I should be told about it."

"Stuff? Which stuff?" Pansy was actually snapping now. "Why won't you tell me… actually, screw you two. I'm going to read my newspaper. Bastards."

We both ignored her, and, disgruntled, she picked up her Prophet and began to read furiously.

As I matched Draco brutalise his bread roll, ripping it into ridiculously small shreds, I couldn't help but notice a certain family resemblance. "You've proven that you can't be trusted." He snapped. "You can't be involved- just forget about it. And _don't_ take out your frustration on Carmeline."

"She insulted my mother." I hissed, raising my knife ominously. Pansy looked up briefly, eyes alight with potential gossip, but she remembered herself at the last moment, scowled at me, and looked away.

"Did I hear that correctly?"

"Oh. Hi, Zabini." I said in a decidedly un-cheerful monotone. "How great to see you."

He definitely knew about the fight. The bastard.

"You really attacked her because she insulted your mother?" He laughed a little, plonking a pile of pamphlets down on the table, and without even a look, intimidating a third year into shifting down the bench. Unaware of the terror he had just inspired in his fellow student, Blaise lowered himself down beside Draco. "I thought that was just a boy thing. I thought that was how we proved that our dicks were big." As he said this last, he cast a suspicious glance my way. "Something to share with the class, Estelle?"

I turned the full force of my passive-aggressive rage on Blaise, channelling it through the sweetest smile I could muster. "Being helpful, are we, Zabini?" I asked. He gave me a lazy, self-satisfied smile. I slammed a hand down on the table. "Why don't you busy yourself reading your _ridiculously_ massive pile of pamphlets?" I picked one up, preparing to rip it dramatically in two, when I caught sight of the title. "'HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TRAIN SECURITY TROLLS?'" I read, confused. And then, with a vicious smile. "Oh, Blaise, Honey, you don't need training- you're a fully capable security troll just as you are."

Again with that self-satisfied smile! Blaise reached out and plucked the pamphlet from my hand. "You're just jealous that your future isn't being decided today." He drawled.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh…" I said, deadpan. "They decide your future? Clever pamphlets." He didn't react and I felt myself sinking into familiar, Blaise-induced despair. "Don't you usually skip breakfast on Mondays?" I asked desperately.

But he shook his head.

"Not this time." Blaise drawled, mouth twisting downwards. "Need to keep our strength up- we have a huge day ahead of us. Career counselling. An hour alone with Snape while he tells us which careers we _shouldn't_ do."

I grinned. "Definitely sounds envy-worthy." I told him sarcastically. "Alright, I'm off."

"Try not to maim anybody." Pansy called distractedly from her prophet.

I gave her the finger, and without looking at Draco (who had really offended me) or Blaise (whom I had recently decided I loathed), I loped away.

…

Lessons went past in a blur. I wasn't speaking to Carmeline, and Jess felt oddly caught in the middle. Torn between two loyalties, she'd retreated into a sort of ridiculously neutral state.

Meaning, she wouldn't talk to either of us. Not officially. But whenever she had one of us alone, she was just as casually friendly as usual. It was a very Slytherin way to handle the situation- maintain both loyalties by being two-faced. Nobody really minded. Both Carmeline and I were of course aware of it, but at the same time, we appreciated our fickle ally.

I won't deny that seeing Carmeline walk into class with a beautifully black eye gave me a deep sense of satisfaction. Unlike me, she hadn't made any effort with her appearance. I played up my 'nothing can touch me' look, Carmeline- always the sweet innocent- played up her 'victim' look.

Manipulative and malicious. I was impressed.

Jess was not. "I don't see." She was telling me as we strolled along the corridor between classes. "Why _you_ become the bad guy, just because you got in a better punch."

I smiled. "I expect you said much the same thing to _her_ on your way to divination." I drawled.

"I didn't." She told me, shaking her head. And then, after a pause. "Okay, well, I _did_, but I didn't really mean it." She met my gaze evenly. "Seriously. I'm less angry with you."

For some reason, I believed her. "Okay. Why?"

Jess shrugged. "Carmeline annoys me." She told me. "And besides, I don't understand why _she_ got upset. I understand why _you_ did, but I don't understand what got her so uptight."

Poor Jess- her parents had been ambassadors somewhere remote at the time of the first war, and had had _nothing_ to do with it. Consequently, she knew as little about the war as I did. She was clueless when it came to the intricacies of old loyalty and family honour. But that was lucky for me, because it meant that she could empathise more fully with my side of the story.

My satisfaction must've shown through on my face, because beside me, Jess scoffed. "I still want you two to make up." She said. "And I'm still not _fully_ on your side. And I still…"

With a whoosh, I was jerked backwards.

"Hey!" Jess cried, sounding annoyed, but whoever had grabbed me ignored her, hand still clamped on my arm as he pulled me back down the corridor.

Casting a look behind me confirmed what I was already aware of. "Hi, Blaise." I drawled.

"I need to talk to you." He said, rather politely, in fact. Or so it would've seemed if he hadn't been practically yanking my arm out of its socket.

"But I don't _want_ to talk to you." I said, cocking my head to one side, as though it was normal for Blaise to be dragging me down the corridor and towards an abandoned classroom.

He didn't even look back at me. "Yes, you _do_." He said.

I sighed. "Fine. But I'm not snogging you. Not this time."

Half an hour later, I was feeling a little guilty for not sticking to my ultimatum. Blaise, however, looked self-satisfied as could be. I've always hated that expression on his face.

"Remind me why we came in here?" I asked, pushing him away from me momentarily.

Blaise gave me an uncharacteristically cheeky smile. "You'd forgotten?" He asked, leaning back in.

Again with the self-satisfaction. I sighed and pushed him off of me once more. "You wanted to talk." I told him. "So maybe we should do that."

He stared at me for a while, eyes darting thoughtfully over my face, and then he frowned. "You're angry at me." He said, sort of redundantly. "Again."

Absently, I wondered whether or not I had ever _stopped_ being angry at him. I folded my arms defensively. "Maybe." I said, sulking just a little. "What do you care?"

"I care because we were snogging." He said with exaggerated understanding and empathy. And then ruined it all with a casual. "And now we've stopped."

"Good." I snapped. "My lip hurts." I touched it gingerly. "I blame you."

Never one to tolerate any flaw in logic, Blaise considered this. "I don't really see why, Estelle." He said, sounding bored. Clearly the lack of physical contact was starting to grate on him. "It isn't as though _I_ attacked you."

"No." I said. "You were probably too busy looking after Carmeline." I sniffed. And then, in what I thought was a reasonable train of thought, I asked. "Why didn't you drag _her_ in here?"

The mood had now been completely destroyed.

"Don't be petty." Blaise groaned. "You can't seriously be asking me that."

"I am." I assured him. "I am _very_ seriously asking you that question."

"Of all the ways to behave during snogging." Blaise muttered, sounding frustrated. "I'm not even sure _which_ question you mean."

Really? He wasn't sure? With a snarl, I clarified for him.

"Why didn't you help _me_?" I demanded. He blinked in bored incomprehension. After all, no matter how obvious it seemed to me, it must've seemed a slight jump in logic to Blaise. "During the fight- when you separated us." I clarified sulkily. "Pucey grabbed me first, and you just went straight to Carmeline!"

He shot me a look of deepest disdain. "You are _such_ a child." He said after a long pause. It was almost as though he'd been waiting for me to say something.

Fuming, I shoved him hard against the doorframe. "So stop _snogging _me, pervert!"

He growled. "You are _such_ a cock tease!"

I laughed, pushing him again. "Oh, yeah, like you even _have_ a cock!" I snapped.

Blaise punched the wall in frustration. "This just. Keeps. _Happening_." He snarled, storming out of the room and right into…

"_Merde_!" I grabbed him arm, hauling him back into the classroom, while he coughed and spluttered. "_Mon Dieu,_ Zabini- can't you swim?"

He shot me a deadly glare, the effect of which was slightly ruined by the pondweed in his hair. "I can _swim_, Estelle." He told me through gritted teeth. "It's just that I wasn't expecting to _have_ to swim in the _hallway_!"

I shot another look outside, and couldn't keep the smile off of my face. The entire area was a mess- brown, muddy sludge stretched out all through the corridor, dotted with pond scum, algae and the odd weed. As I watched, a frog hopped by, croaking contentedly.

I laughed. "Have you _seen_ this, Zabini?" I asked, turned around to see him. He looked less than impressed.

"Seen it?" He muttered, pulling off a shoe and tipping murky water everywhere. "I've tasted it." He paused for a moment. "It was good of you to pull me out."

Our fight had dissolved almost instantly.

I raised an eyebrow. "What, as opposed to maybe _leaving_ you there?"

He shot me a reluctant smile. "I look ridiculous." He told me, like it was some sort of secret.

Some people might've comforted him. I didn't really see the point. "Yes." I agreed, folding my arms. "You do, rather. And you have a little something…. Yes." I indicated my cheek vaguely, and like an infant, Blaise began to run at the spot. "Yes- just _there_. Or up a little- a little to the left and right… And _oh,_ of course. It's all over your face."

He scowled and whacked my hand away. "Merlin." He muttered. "When did _this_ get here?" He paused. "We haven't- I don't know- been transported to a swamp, have we?"

I raised an eyebrow, peeking out the door again. "Not unless whoever did _that_ bothered to move the entire school to the swamp. No- I think that the _swamp_ has been moved _here_." And I couldn't help but grin evilly. "I think this is a 'screw you' aimed at Umbridge. And I think this is the work of Fred and George."

Lost in gleeful malice, I didn't even notice Blaise look at me, perplexed. "Who?" He asked, and suddenly my faux pas became obvious.

"Oh. The Weasley twins- you know." I said with a light shrug.

"And you are on a first name basis with them?" He asked, sounding supremely unconcerned, which naturally meant that he was furious.

"What?" I laughed easily. "Oh, of course not. Just- people talk, so I know their names." He looked unconvinced. "Come on, Zabini- everybody knows their names!"

"I didn't." Blaise said evenly. "I don't know _why_ you'd know the first names of older Gryffindor boys. Especially older, Gryffindor, _blood-traitor_ boys."

Annoyed, I pushed him away again. "Don't be a bastard." I snapped. "You know none of that really bothers me. Besides- everybody knows Harry Potter's first name- why shouldn't I know other Gryffindors' names? It's the same thing."

"No, it _isn't_, Estelle." Blaise sounded furious. "It isn't the same at all. Look," frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "Potter is scum. He's common, and ridiculously naïve, and so well-intentioned that I feel like punching him every time he _smiles_ at the world. But he _is_ significant. The Weasleys- every last one of them- are _not_. They are trash, and they are inconsequential trash. The only way one of those lower class, ginger _morons_ will ever make a blip on the radar of life is if they die tragically."

I waited patiently for him to finish before I gave him the finger. "Screw you, Zabini." I said sweetly. "Because if they _did_ do this, then they've already proven themselves more significant than you."

"Yes," Blaise drawled, unconcerned. "Yes, they're absolute _heroes_. I'm ever so glad they've got us stranded here with their overwhelming _significance_."

I frowned thoughtfully, ignoring him. "I wonder where it ends." I said to myself, dipping a hand in the sludge.

"I'd say the Great Hall." Blaise supplied snarkily. "They wouldn't want to jeopardise the possibility of getting a warm, hearty meal- those must be so _scarce_ in their family home." I shot him a look, and he blinked innocently. "What?" He asked. "Food is expensive, and there are _so_ many of them."

"Whatever." I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. "We have to get across somehow.." I said, frowning at the swamp, which was now bubbling a little. "And the Great Hall isn't far from here at all. We just have to head left and continue til we reach dry land." I considered. "Floor. I meant 'dry floor'."

Blaise rolled his eyes, sending bits of pond scum flying from his eyelashed. "What, did you want to rip apart some desks and make a raft? Did you want to be the Captain and I'll be the first mate?"

I frowned at him. "Oh, _no_, Zabini! Don't be silly!" And then I gave him an evil smile. "Why sail when we could just swim?"

…..

As it happened, the swamp ended much sooner than that. We waded uncomfortably through some shallow parts, squelched along the lumps of solid-ish ground which poked up at random through the swamp and doggy paddled through the rest of it.

It was wet and disgusting and slimy. But it was surprisingly fun. In fact, it was the most fun I'd had with Blaise perhaps _ever_. He wasn't being too disdainful or condescending. Perhaps surrendering to the ridiculousness of the whole damn situation, he was actually _playing_. At one point, I dared him to do an underwater handstand, and he did, flipping over and sticking his feet up through the horrid, dirty sludge.

It was almost a pity when we spotted the clean-looking stone floors looming out at us in the distance. Still giggling like idiots, we pulled ourselves out of the swamp and onto the floor. Thoughtful as always, Blaise pushed me back in first, so I grabbed his ankles and pulled him under. That continued for a while, until eventually, he admitted that he was catching cold, and we agreed on a temporary (and seriously muddy) truce, shaking hands and clambering out of the swamp for a final time.

"That was fun." Blaise said mildly, staring at the ceiling. Absently, he cast a glance my way. "You still have your war paint on. And you look like an idiot."

Oh. Earlier on, when we'd just begun our trek, I'd thought it would be a good idea to paint muddy stripes on our cheeks, like muggle soldiers. With a grin, I brushed my cheek with my fingers to find that the mud had dried on my face, crusted and black. "Ew." I sniggered. "I can't believe we actually did that."

"I honestly don't even know why we bothered." Blaise said nonchalantly. And then he frowned, lost in thought. "Estelle." He asked slowly. "What, uh, what floor are we on?"

I considered. "The first floor."

He rolled onto his stomach, mimicking my pose, and shot me a condescending smile. "And that classroom we were in." He said slowly. "Didn't it have a _window_?"

Oh. Oh yeah. It did, actually. We stared at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing. We must've looked ridiculous, crusted in swamp mud and rolling around on the floor in hysterics. As I wiped tears of mirth from my eyes, I reflected happily on the fact that at least nobody had seen us yet.

"And they say _this_ is the future of our world." A voice lamented silkily. "Tragic. Just _tragic._"

Blaise and I stopped laughing, and looked upwards to see a pair of black robes. And then we looked a little further upwards and saw some pale, sallow hands. And then we looked even further upwards and saw that we'd been caught by none other than…

"Professor Snape." Blaise said, somehow sounding charming even when his hair was caked with mud.

"We weren't swimming in the lake." I said automatically, and beside me, Blaise smirked a little.

Snape, practically salivating at yet another opportunity to give me a detention, opened his mouth to begin what promised to be a stream of chastisements and rebukes, when some first year Gryffindors sprinted down the hallway, giggling. "Did you see them? Did you see the Weasleys?"

And then, like magic, Snape's attention was elsewhere. "You." He hissed, and the first years careened into each other in an effort to stop in time. "Which Weasleys?"

The children looked so terrified that I almost wanted to hug them. Of course, I doubt that would have made them feel any better. When your evil potions teacher ambushes you, the last thing you want is a swamp monster running up to you with its arms outstretched.

"Th-the twins." One first year stuttered out. "Am I in trouble, Professor Snape?"

He rolled his eyes. "Get to class." He snapped, and then turned back to us. "I want an explanation." He said in a deceptively soft tone. "And I would like it _now_."

For a moment, I considered telling him the whole story, beginning with: 'well, Professor, Zabini and I have recently gotten into the habit of aggressively snogging in the closest abandoned classroom.' Or maybe 'this all started when Zabini dragged my forcibly down the hallway with the intention of having his way with me'. I cast a look at the object of my thoughts. Blaise looked cool and collected. As I watched, he glanced over at me, and nodded, as though to say 'I've got this'. Satisfied, I relaxed.

"Estelle thought it would be a good idea to swim the swamp." He said simply.

That little bastard.

Snape's beady eyes looked impassive. "As….. a way to pass the time?" He asked softly, eyes moving to look me up and down with great disgust. From his expression, it was clear that he didn't think it at all out of character or beneath my usual behaviour to have jumped into a giant vat of sludge because I was bored.

Blaise shook his head. "Ah. No, she was stranded in a classroom."

"Nice, Zabini." I drawled. "Only you can't blame it all on me- I'm not the only one covered in mud right now."

Snape inclined his head, as though to agree with me, before he realised exactly what that would mean. Him? Agree with _me_? No.

"You were… stranded?" Snape said slowly. "On _this_ floor?"

"We know, we know." I said, exasperated. "We should've used a window."

And then suddenly, before anybody could answer, somebody screamed as two brooms crashed through the hallway, one dragging behind it a chain and peg, as though it had ripped free of the wall.

Blaise, Snape and I looked at each other, and then- with the exception of Snape- we sprinted down the corridor, heading for the Entrance Hall.

We rounded the corner just in time to hear somebody shout out. "We _won't_ be seeing you." Ignoring Blaise, I pushed through the crowd a little bit, craning my neck to try and see past the throngs of people. When I _did_ catch a glimpse of the action at the Hogwarts doors, I laughed out loud. Fred and George were sitting astride their brooms, grinning their fabulously loutish grins.

That brief look was all I got. At that moment, Blaise reappeared, looking like a sea monster, with kelp hanging from his hair and mud caked on his face. "What's happening?" He half shouted at me.

It was very difficult in that moment to remember exactly why I was involved with this dickhead.

"Move so I can see!" I hissed, shoving him out of the way. Somebody standing in front of us turned around, took one look at our sludge-covered selves an turned around as quickly as he could.

But I was too late. "Give her hell for us, Peeves!" One of the twins screamed, and then they were gone, zooming away on their brooms.

I turned to face Blaise, tight lipped. He met my gaze sulkily. "What?" He asked, almost _pouting_.

Suddenly, I was just too exasperated to continue. With a snarl, I threw my hands into the air and strode off. I'd had just about enough for one day. All the stares and the whispers, and then my inability to stay away from Blaise even after he'd protected Carmeline instead of me, and then him _turning_ on me as the cherry on top of the whole stupid day.

If he had any sense, he'd stay away from _me_ for a while.

"Estelle! You absolute moron- wait!"

Of _course_. "What, Blaise?" I snapped, whirling around. "What now?"

He paused, cocking his head to the side and trying to look disdainful. Unfortunately, the dried mud on his face had begun to peel off in patches, and he seemed more contemptible than contempt_uous._ "You're angry?" He asked, sounding amused. "Again? Now what?"

I stepped up to him, tilting my head back so that I could glare up into his face. "I can't believe you blamed me." I hissed at him. "How much of a coward _are_ you? You couldn't even take the blame for the girl you'd been snogging bare minutes before?"

He laughed. "What? You _did_ decide to swim in the lake. I just agreed. It isn't like I lied.

I folded my arms, ignoring the way that my mud-caked robes cracked at the movement. "Of _course_ not." I said soothingly. "You would _never_ be at all in the wrong." Suddenly, I felt extremely bitter. "I'll bet if darling _Carmeline_ had been in my place, you would have thrown yourself on the proverbial sword."

"You're still jealous about that?" Blaise made an odd noise, sort of between a scoff and a frustrated groan, and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. "Have you _really_ not thought this out?" He asked, sounding beyond exasperated. I raised an eyebrow, indicating that he could continue. He sighed. "Alright, Estelle." He said, sounding painfully patronising. "You say I helped Carmeline, not you?" I nodded. Duh. "So by ripping the little bitch who'd just split your lip off of you, I was helping _Carmeline_?"

I made to answer, and then paused. Wait a moment….

Blaise continued. "That idiot Pucey got what he wanted- he copped a feel. But _I_ made sure you didn't get beaten to a pulp." I gaped at him for a moment, and he rolled his eyes. "Idiotic." He muttered. "You are _absolutely_ idiotic."

And then, with perfect nonchalance, he strode away.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Just two reviews this time- thank you so much for those! So a shoutout to **katchile94**and my anonymous reviewer.

We will definitely be seeing more of Bellatrix in Estelle's life, I can promise you that. Whether or not they like each other is more complicated. Certainly Bellatrix is caught between resentment for and fascination with Estelle, but Estelle is clever, and remember she'll know all about Bellatrix from her father's journal, so we'll see where that leads. As to whether or not Sirius dies… as I said, I'm keeping it canon. Sorry! The temptation is definitely there, though. I wish I could keep him alive, so who knows…?

You'll just have to keep reading

Please please _please_ review everybody! Just click on that little blue hyperlink and make my dreams come true :P


	14. Chapter 14

I'm not sure if it was because of their dramatic and inspiring departure, or because of the extreme and pent-up frustration under the Umbitch's reign, but after Fred and George's rebellious flight, the whole school really seemed to raise the bar on Umbridge torture.

Within two days of their little stunt, there had been more accidents and more pranks than in the entire year. Priceless busts toppled mysteriously from their stands, Umbridge's helpers suffered from bizarre accidents, and the dungbombs….

So help me, the dungbombs.

I spent the next few weeks walking around with an enchanted bubble on my head to avoid the stench. It wasn't just me, either. All the students were doing it, the older ones helping their younger housemates with the complicated charm.

It was like we were wearing gasmasks.

And that was why, just over a week before OWLs were due to start, Jess and I were wondering through the halls on the fifth floor, looking like we were preparing for the apocalypse.

"Is that a…. niffler?" Jess asked, voice muffled somewhat by her bubble head charm.

I watched the adorable black thing scuttle past, making an odd sort of snorting noise. "I've always liked nifflers." I said dreamily, as though it weren't really unusual for wild animals to be burrowing in the hallway carrying a tiny horde of shiny things in their mouths. "They're essentially materialistic, but at least they're up front about it."

Jess shot me a bemused glance as the sound of Umbridge's shrieks pierced the corridor. At least now we knew where the niffler had come from. I rolled my eyes, catching sight of Jess' sub-par charms skills as I did so. "Uh, Jess?"

"Hmnn?"

I grinned. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Your charm is…. Peeling." She blinked in confusion, and I shrugged. "Honestly- it is. It's coming apart in places.. I didn't even know that was possible. I mean, bubbles don't _peel_ generally."

Horrified, Jess raised a hand to her face, poking fearfully at the bubble covering it. "Oh. Oh _shit_." She jumped up and down. "Oh _no_. Oh no!"

I patted her shoulder kindly. "Calm _down_, amigo." I said, still grinning. "We'll just have to reapply it better next time…"

"No!" Jess cried. "Don't you _know_ where we are?" She demanded, waving her arms around. Another layer of bubble peeled off her face and floated uselessly to the ground. "We're outside Umbridge's office!"

Realisation hit me like a punch in the stomach. "Ah. _Bien entendu_, this place is always _full_ of dungbombs lately."

"I'm going to die!" Jess moaned. "I'm going to die of asphyxiation. "

"Oh, Jess." I tutted sweetly. "The niffler seemed to be doing fine- why not you?"

My logic was wasted on her.

She grabbed my arm, dragging me through the corridor at high speed. "Lets get out of here." She gasped. "The air- it tastes _foul_." We started to run, me laughing and Jess gasping for breath and cursing like a sailor.

"We might have to be quicker than that." I told her, still smiling. "One of the prefects will find us, and we're _awfully_ close to Umbridge's office. Niffler suspects? I think _us_."

We rounded the final corner, dodging a fifth year hufflepuff, who seemed to be pouring baby oil onto the floor, and rushing down the stairs. I cast another look Jess' way- her bubble was almost completely gone. What remained was hanging in a sort of deflated slump around her nose, looking very forlorn and useless.

"What do they _put_ in these dungbombs?" Jess wailed. "We have to get to Potions- we _have_ to."

I had sort of forgotten Potions. I made an unhappy face. "Or we could hide? I _like_ hiding."

Jess just shook her head emphatically, still pulling me down the stairs. "We have our essays due today." She reminded me helpfully. "We can't not go, or Snape will do that… creepy thing… again."

The 'creepy thing' she was referring to had occurred a few months before. I'd skived off potions the day an essay was due, and in retaliation, Snape had come to collect it. From the common room.

Now, Slytherins have a strict understanding with Snape- our space is _our_ space, his space is _his_ space. We stay out of each other's way. We're so remote from the other students that the noise we make isn't really noticed by anybody else, but Snape hears it. In accordance with our 'understanding', though, he lets it slip.

So it really freaked everybody out when he came in. I have never seen such a mad scramble to hide contraband items. And the look of horrified shock plastered on everybody's faces? Priceless.

But Jess was being serious- she wouldn't let me skive again. For the sanctity of the common room.

So we thundered down the stairs, making an inhuman amount of noise and grinning like idiots.

"So," Jess whispered as we hurried along. "I meant to ask you. Blaise."

I shot her a smile. "That wasn't quite a question, Jess." I said, pushing my hair out of my face. "Oh, trip wire." I told her, and we jumped over the last step. "Bulstrode broke her nose here, the other day."

She waved a hand dismissively, returning to our previous conversation. "No, I _know_ it wasn't a real question, but I've seen you two. I thought he liked _me_, but I guess you can't tie them down…"

I shook my head, uncomprehending. "If I said that I _still_ wasn't sure what this conversation was about, would you think I was stupid?"

"I'd think you were in denial." Jess said sweetly. "Listen, you know that he's trouble, don't you?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't even like _him_." I told her sternly, ending the matter. Or so I thought, because after a second's silence, she let out a dramatic gasp and ran to my side.

"So- you like somebody else?" She demanded.

I blinked. "Interesting. How did you get that?"

She waved a hand. "You stressed the word 'him'- just a little. So instead of: 'I don't like him' (clear statement), you said 'I don't like _him_', meaning you don't like him in particular, _meaning_ you like somebody _else_. Don't you?"

"No." I said, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "You're just placing undue significance on my speech patterns." I cast her a look. "It isn't like you're a psychologist."

"Yeah." She nodded in agreement. "Course I'm not. Dealing with other people's mental problems would be such a _dull_ career."

And there it was. Quick as a flash, I grabbed her shoulders, ignoring her squeak of protest. "Two things." I said calmly. "Firstly, that bubble is peeling dreadfully- now it just looks like you've got a huge piece of snot falling from your nose." Jess slapped a hand to her face self-consciously. "Secondly- who's the boy?"

She blinked in shock. "What are you on about?"

I smiled. "You knew what a 'psychologist' was, even though your family has never had anything to do with muggle jobs, and you talked about Black Beauty recently, even though you're pureblood for generations back. So who is this muggle boy you've been hiding?"

Years of practice kept Jess' facial expression neutral as I stared her down. "I don't know what you're on about, Estelle." She said with a short laugh, pushing me off none too gently.

"Sure you do, friend." I said, keeping my voice and my face sweet as could be. "Seriously, though, what would your parents say? Do they know?"

"Listen, Estelle." Jess cut me off, looking serious. "_You_ don't like anybody, and there _is_ no muggle boy- that's how it's going to work. Otherwise I'll let Draco know how much time you've been spending with Potter." I blinked in surprise, and Jess looked satisfied. I couldn't believe it- we'd been careful. Or _I'd_ been careful to make sure that nobody really saw us together, and yet Jess knew, and she thought… did she think I liked _him_. "Deal?"

I gave her a short nod. "Alright." I agreed slowly, still considering her own thoughts about Harry and I. "But you'll need to talk to somebody soon. It may as well be me."

Thankfully, we'd just rounded the corner, and were standing at the door to the Potions dungeon, so our awkward silence wasn't going to last too long. We spent a long minute staring at each other, each of us sorting out the revelations of our past conversation in our minds. That was the brilliant thing about Jess- we were close enough that when we disagreed, it took it mere moments to get back on track, storing away our fights for another time.

That happened this time, too. We worked out our problems silently, and after sharing a significant nod, I pulled out a cigarette, offering her one. Jess took it with an air of ritualistic solemnity. It was, she knew, a conciliatory gesture.

"Ready?" she asked me, lighting both our cigarettes with a flick of her wand.

I nodded, taking a long drag. "No. Never ready for Snape."

She grinned at me, coughing a little as she took a drag of my cigarette. "Wow." She said hoarsely. "Wow. You know, you make these things looks so rebellious. You look all tortured and artistic and bitter when you smoke them, but they really are _foul_."

I shrugged. "Yeah." I agreed with a grin. "They're not for the weak, that's true."

And then it was like nothing had happened. "Lets go in then, shall we?" Jess said. "And maybe put out the cigarettes. At this rate, we'll be on time, and if we're not smoking, then Snape will have nothing to tell you off for today."

The thought made me smile- I wasn't in the mood for confrontation. "Alright. That'll be the first time ever, then."

Jess grinned. "Well then, model student." She held out her arm for me.

It was perfect- a real Hollywood moment.

So of course, it couldn't last,

We'd dodged everybody in the hallways. We'd avoided the niffler, Umbridge, the kid with the baby oil, the dungbombs, the trip wire on the bottom step.

But we'd forgotten about Peeves.

He surfaced just at the moment that the Potions door began to swing open to admit us, his presence announced by a loud cackle as he swooped towards us, toting a huge, steaming vat and flying in close. At the very last moment, he dived, pouring the entire thing onto our heads, leaving us shrieking and soaked with…..

"Firewhiskey?" I laughed, wiping it out of my eyes and consequently smearing eyeliner all over my cheeks. "Thank _Merlin_- I thought it was piss."

"Five points from Slytherin." We looked up. The door had swung fully open at the worst possible instant, and Jess and I were standing there, in all of our alcohol-reeking glory, in front of the entire class.

That seemed unfair. "What for?" I demanded. "Shouldn't you take the points off of Peeves?"

Snape looked at me coldly. "Peeves wasn't _vulgar_ in my classroom." He sneered.

I blinked. "He poured a tub of firewhiskey over us." I pointed out, feeling victimised.

"Is your relationship with the school poltergeist _my_ concern? Snape asked Boredly.

I smiled my sweetest smile. "Goodness _no,_ Professor." I simpered. "That would mean you cared."

Snape was used to that sort of thing. "Another five points." He said simply. I didn't even bother to ask why- he would explain in his own time. "I detest sarcasm. And the smell of firewhiskey."

Jess shot me a sympathetic smile as we made our squelching way to our usual seats at the front of the class. As we passed the Weasley girl, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. I wondered absently how many points Snape would deduct if I punched a Gryffindor. "Shame about your perfect lesson." Jess whispered as we pulled out our seats and sank down into them.

I shrugged, over it. "That never would have worked." I told her honestly. "If I'd come in being _good_, Snape probably would have deducted points from me for disturbing the natural order of the universe." Thoughtfully, I licked my lips and felt myself smile. "Besides- this is a wonderful vintage."

Jess' nod was very serious. "Peeves has high standards." She told me, deadpan. "I suppose that's _one_ thing to be thankful for." I shot her a look, and with a smile, she elaborated. "The Weasley's would have doused us with the cheap stuff."

…...

It wasn't a very big deal, but Jess and I spent the rest of the day smelling of firewhiskey. I don't know how, but it seemed to have been absorbed into our skin, til we even seemed to _sweat_ alcohol.

Eventually we retired to the Common Room, skipping dinner. Carmeline was nowhere to be found- she was still hiding from me (good) and I'd cursed Marcus after one too many jokes about how he _really_ liked the idea that I was firewhiskey flavoured, so he was leaving me alone.

Jess was sulking. Dinner was when Slytherins all caught up on the day's gossip, and we were missing it, meaning we'd be out of the loop til tomorrow night. But I was studying, catching up on the homework Macgonnagal had set us to distract us while she concentrated on her OWL students.

That was difficult to do, with her sitting beside me, bemoaning our lack of gossip. It was only when the students began to trickle in from dinner that she perked up, waiting with her hands clasped in her lap for somebody she knew and could interrogate.

"Argh!" Jess wailed, still sitting up as straight as possible. She looked like a dog waiting for a bone. "They're all younger! I don't _know_ anybody younger!"

Finally, being a good friend, I looked up from my essay and scanned the crowd for a familiar face. I found one almost instantly. "Astoria!" I called.

She looked up, frowning. When she caught sight of me, her frown deepened. With a huge scowl she strode over to me. "What?" she snapped. And then, "Ooh. Are you _always_ drunk?"

I smiled sweetly at her. "Maybe I am. Always drunk, but never ever _vomiting_." I told her. "Unlike some people. What happened today?"

She knew what we were asking. Filled with self importance, she primped a little, and then said. "They got Pansy! Cursed her in the hall!"

Jess and I exchanged looks. So, the student body had finally exacted retribution from one Pansy Parkinson. "What did they do?" I asked, not a little eagerly. "Did they give her tentacles? There was a rumour about Montnague….."

Astoria grinned gleefully, shaking her head. "Nnnooo." She said slowly, savouring the gossip. "No, they…. Oh shit- your cousin is coming!" I looked up to see Draco storming on, clearly on the warpath. "Oh no." Astoria said. "he _hates_ me. I'd better go." And then she scampered off. Jess and I glanced at each other, then scrambled to get ourselves into natural positions. I picked up my book and Jess pulled a nail file from god knows where.

When Draco finally spotted us, we were the picture of casual innocence. We both ignored him for the first few moments that he stood there, arms folded defensively. "Didn't see you at dinner." He said gruffly.

"Didn't go." I answered, turning a page in my textbook.

There was a moment's silence, and then:

"Have you seen her?"

I blinked. "Who, Draco?" I asked, closing my book and looking innocently up at him.

"Pansy." He said slowly. "Have you _seen_ her…" Suddenly it seemed as though he were finding it difficult to form works. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally finding the right word. "Antlers?"

The corner of my mouth began to quirk up, despite my best efforts to restrain myself. "Her… I'm sorry- _antlers_?" A tiny little giggle escaped. "No. No, I haven't."

Clearly not having noticed my internal battle to maintain control, Draco sat down next to me, frowning thoughtfully. "She is distraught. They've gone too far, I believe. I mean…." He sighed. "How will she do her hair?"

I couldn't help it- I giggled. The look Draco shot me was pure poison. Annoyed, I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come _on_, Draco. It'll be fine. Pomfrey will cure her." Draco frowned, looking thoughtful. I couldn't resist. "And besides, she has exactly the right face shape for antlers- it'd be lovely."

He shot me a glare. "I don't know why you're being so flippant." He snapped. "Warrington looks like he's got leprosy, Montague's brain is scrambled. Pansy looks like she belongs in a petting zoo…. Who knows who'll be next? It might be you!"

I considered this. "Don't think so, Drake." I said honestly. "So far, it's just been members of your precious inquisitorial squad. I was never given that honour, sadly."

"_So_ sadly." I glanced up at Daphne Greengrass, who was looking down on me with her typical air of superiority.

"It is sad." I told her. "I am very _very_ sad- you all know how I love to spend time with Umbridge."

"And you'd just _adore_ spending time in the hospital wing, deformed." Daphne continued, smiling as though nothing would please her more than to see me deposited safely in a hospital bed. "What would those horrible little pranksters do to _you_. I think scales. Big scales, all over your skin. You'd be a huge, blonde lizard." Alright, perhaps the idea of me as a huge blonde lizard was even more appealing. But as I watched, her happy smile morphed into a frown, and then she sniffed suspiciously at the air, looking uncannily like Astoria. "What's that smell?"

I rolled my eyes, turning back to Draco. "I wouldn't worry." I told him. "That they're targeting you is only natural- after all, you _do_ terrorise them."

"It's _you_." I looked to Daphne, who was eyeing me suspiciously. "You reek of firewhiskey."

"Ah!" I said, raising a finger. "But a good vintage, yes?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. I shot a smile at Jess, who returned it as though we were sharing some private joke. Daphne seemed less amused. "Whatever." She waved a hand dismissively. "You smell trashy."

"You _look_ trashy." I countered quickly, without looking up from my book.

She ignored me, which, all things considered, was probably the best response. "Draco, I came to see if you still wanted us girls to make banners for the quidditch match this weekend?"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Ew." I said. "Quidditch."

Draco shot me a look, and I realised how tired he seemed. "That would be good." He told her. "We need all the support we can get- and we _need_ to beat those smarmy little Hufflepuffs- it's a matter of pride. We can't _lose_ to those ninnies."

"Nay, we shall _never_ surrender!" I cheered dramatically, receiving daggers from the entire lounge. "What?" I asked defensively, quailing inwardly under my peers' icy gazes. "I just think you all care too much about this stuff. There's so many other things to worry about."

"You can't _still_ hate quidditch." Draco snapped. "I taught you to fly- you weren't awful, either."

I shrugged. "I like other things better." I told him, and his eyes lit up with inspiration.

"Of course. Daphne, Estelle enjoys art- she could help with the banners."

"She wouldn't want to." Daphne interjected, before anybody else could say anything.

Ignoring her, I considered the proposition. "If I painted the banners." I asked slowly. "Would I still need to go to watch?"

I should have known better than to think I could get off.

"You'd better be at that game, Estelle." Draco said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "I've had a hell of a week, and you need to be there."

"No!" I said weakly. "No I _refuse_, because I _really_ hate it at your quidditch games lately. Pansy keeps making everybody _sing_. It's awful."

By my side Jess snorted. "No danger of that _this_ time." She said. "She'll still be too embarrassed about her antlers to go out in public."

I leaned my head back, considering that and fighting off my smile once more. "if only they'd turned her into a snake." I said thoughtfully. "Then she could have come along and demonstrated her house pride. And snakes can't sing, either."

"Believe me, Pansy can still sing. Or at least, talk." Blaise approached, plonking his stuff down on top of mine. I hissed through my teeth in annoyance. "In fact, she won't shut up."

"Oh." I said, smiling cruelly. "I just can't _imagine_ what it would be like to be _annoyed_ by somebody like that." And, still smiling, I slowly pushed his books off of mine and onto the floor.

"Look, we need as much support as we can get." Draco cut off Blaise's retort. "We're already bound to lose, what with Montague still all fuzzy from whatever those Weasley idiots did to him."

"That _was_ odd." I agreed, still remembering the day they'd pulled Montague out of the toilet, gibbering about magical cupboards. "But I really think he'd be a very entertaining player in that state, anyway."

Blaise wrinkled his nose. "Not _that_ entertaining." He said honestly. "I saw him when I went to visit Pansy- he just sits there and sort of… gibbers."

I grinned, but my grin faded as Blaise, with his nose still wrinkled, said. "Can anybody smell that?" Jess and I exchanged looks. "I can smell… is it firewhiskey?" He turned instantly to me. "Who did you snog this time?"

That seemed totally unfair to me. And not a slight jump in logic, either. "Why do you just assume that I'm snogging people?" I demanded, slamming my book down on his hand. He hissed in pain. Good. "Why don't you assume that, I don't know, I'm an alcoholic. Or that Peeves flew past and poured a vat of firewhiskey on my head?"

Blaise looked as nonplussed as somebody with absolutely no obvious facial expression could look. "I'm going to assume that you didn't think that question through." He said slowly.

I scowled. "My point still stands. Why does the fact that I smell of alcohol mean that I've been snogging?"

"You _do_ get frisky when you're drunk." Jess interjected helpfully from my left. I turned to her with a tightly controlled smile, resisting the urge to tell her to _fuck off_.

My rescue came from an unlikely source. "I don't want to hear this. Ew." Daphne said, wrinkling her nose again. "Are you going to help with the banners then, Estelle?"

I smiled sweetly at the group around me. "Well, if I'm not too busy drunkenly snogging everybody, sure."

I stayed downstairs for a while after Jess left, discussing the banners with Daphne, an experience which seriously cemented my dislike for her. But as the night wore on, I got more and more impatient of Draco's moping, Daphne's preening and Blaise's superiority.

Just before eight, I took my leave of them and headed up for the peace and quiet of my dormitory.

Of course, it wasn't any better up there.

"What are you idiots doing?" I asked affectionately, looking around at my dorm sisters, completely at a loss. Carmeline refused to meet my gaze, but Wilhelmina Flugen and Prudence Jones waved happily.

"Hi, Estelle." Prudence said cheerfully. "We're making a potion- want in?"

Were they? Were they _really_? Wow- I wouldn't ever have guessed that from the cauldron bubbling in the middle of the floor. I took a moment to wonder _how_ it was bubbling- there didn't seem to be any logs, and yet there were clearly flames licking up around the sides of the cauldron. I had a bad feeling about the whole business.

I shook my head. "I hate potions- you know that."

"You'd like _this_ one." Jess called from where she was lounging on my bed. Even though she wasn't in our dorm, she still spent all her time there. She seemed to have deluded herself into thinking that we had some sort of arrangement, whereby _my_ stuff became _our_ stuff.

So, consequently, she was lying on _my_ bed, reading _my_ magazine and eating _my_ chocolate. Noticing the direction of my gaze, Jess looked up and smiled. "Sorry- did you want some?" She asked.

"Of my own chocolate? No, I'm fine." I sat down crosslegged on Wilhelmina's bed. "What sort of potion?"

"Weight loss!" Wilhelmina sung happily, just as Prudence crooned "Skin clearing!"

Alright. I looked to Jess, who shrugged. "It's some recipe they found in _Witch Weekly_. Apparently, it fixes up one of your appearance worries for you. Works however you want it to."

"So, if you have thin hair, it'll give you thick hair." Prudence explained, while Carmeline continued to sulk in the corner. "And if you have a long nose, it'll fix that. And if you have cankles, it'll get rid of your cankles."

"Which is why we were waiting for _you_." Wilhelmina sang happily. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. "Not that you have cankles." She supplied quickly, realising her faux pas. "No, we needed you because we're missing some ingredients."

I raised an eyebrow. "And I, of course, have that darling little portable apothecary in my wardrobe?" I drawled sarcastically.

"That _would_ be nice." Prudence said slowly. "But actually, we just thought you might be the only one brave enough to go and get it."

"Get what?" I asked, amused.

Wilhelmina and Prudence exchanged looks. Carmeline pouted. "A hair." Prudence said finally.

"Alright."

"It's a- um- _tail_ hair." Wilhelmina continued nervously. "A tail hair from our favourite Professor Palomino?"

Now it made sense. "The centaur?" I laughed. "You want a centaur's tail hair?" They nodded at me, wide eyes pleading. I was nonplussed. "I don't even take divination." I pointed out. "Jess could get it for you."

"No." Jess said instantly from the bed. And then she looked up to meet my eyes. "Come on, you're always talking about how bored you are. This could be fun- a challenge! And you get to talk to a centaur."

I laughed, shaking my head, but just as I made to say no, somebody spoke up in a cold little voice. "What, don't think you can do it?"

I hissed, glaring at Carmeline. "Of _course_ I can do it." I snapped, while a little voice in my head told me that she was just trying to goad me, told me to ignore her.

"Oh. So you're _scared_, then?" She asked.

Damn little voice. If only it could speak a little louder.

…

"Hello?" I peered cautiously into the room, ducking around the ferns and the vines. It looked like the forest had crept in and exploded everywhere. The floor was covered in grass, and the few squares of stone wall which you could glimpse through the heavy foliage were covered in moss. "Sorry- is anybody here?"

"Can I help you?" I a voice asked, and I spun around.

Pasting a grin on my face, I stuck out my hand. "Hi." I winked. "I'm Estelle Dahlquist…"

"You are _not_ one of my students." The centaur said coolly, taking a few elegant steps closer to me. I watched his hooves pat along the ground with mounting curiosity.

"N-no. Well spotted." I said absently, then shot him another smile. "I actually think Divination is ridiculous."

The centaur regarded me with an aloof expression. "It _was_ farcical, when you were taught by that woman. But in reality, it is an art form."

I shrugged. "Well, you know what they say- everybody's a critic. That's certainly true with me. I am the _biggest_ critic you'll ever meet." He said nothing, just watched me with a distinct lack of disinterest. I wondered what would happen if he ever met Blaise. Would they just stand there and stare at each other, frozen in postures of superiority?

"I'm actually just here to pick up Jess Osyth's class work."

"Lie." The centaur interrupted me.

Nodding, I tried again. "Yeah, you're right. I got a little lost, and I was embarrassed, so…."

"Lie."

"Well, why did _you_ think I came here?" I snapped finally, and to my surprise, he smiled a little.

It was a cruel sort of smile. Very condescending. But it was for me. I watched him warily. "I think that you were curious." He said carefully. "And I think that you were dared."

Alright then. The game was up. Nonchalantly, I dropped the innocent student act, reached into the pocket of my robes and pulled out a cigarette. "Yeah, guess I should have prepared a back story." I said regretfully. "But it was sort of late notice."

"What were you planning on doing?" The centaur asked, sounding completely unimpressed.

I shrugged. "Oh, the others want a centaur tail hair for some potion they're making." He met my gaze with all the authority of a judgment-day style angel. "What?" I took another drag. "They _dared_ me. And anyway, I was curious."

"About?"

I walked around him. "All sorts of things, really." Something occurred to me. "You didn't know my mother, did you?"

He looked completely exasperated. "Why would I know a human woman?" He asked, quite logically. "Were it not for Albus Dumbledore's specific request, I would not be here now." His gaze skimmed over me. "I find mortals… tedious."

Fair enough. "I can sort of see why." I admitted. "It's just that everybody I meet lately seems to know my mother. I thought you might."

I have never seen anybody looked so annoyed with such a blank face. "I did not."

Alright then. It wasn't like I had no other questions. "Why would you agree to Dumbledore's request? Could I have that tail hair? Also, are there _girl_ centaurs?"

The centaur's eyes slid languidly over to me. "You ask many questions." He said disinterestedly. "Most of them are nonsense."

I smiled shrewdly. "_Most_ of them." I said, sitting cross legged on the mossy ground. "But one of them you don't want to answer." I sighed, looking at him speculatively. "My friends tell me that you don't teach like humans do. Jess says that you spend the whole lesson talking about how little everybody knows, and how uncertain everything is, until they leave the classroom, wondering what the good of divination could possibly be."

He nodded. "That is an understandable reaction."

I continued. "They think that what you're teaching them is useless. They don't think it'll help them pass any exams, and they think you don't care." I cocked my head, considering him. "I agree with that- it doesn't seem like you'd care too much."

He trotted over to my side, peering down at me. "I don't know why you're here." He said simply.

I took another drag, and then looked up at him. "Who, me? Tail hair, remember?"

He made a languid, dismissive gesture. "You are arrogant and obnoxious." He told me. Wow, Jess was right, what a sweetheart. "You came here to prove something, but also, I think, for another reason." He turned his gold eyes on me. "Did you have questions about the future." The tone he said _that_ in was as disgusted as if he'd asked whether or not I had a rash on my privates.

I grinned, waving a hand dismissively to mirror him. "Me? Oh, no. I've never had any patience for divination. I don't like to think that people can tell the future."

"Why?" he asked.

I shrugged, hugging my knees to my chest. "If people can tell the future, read it like a book, then that means that it's _written_ somewhere, doesn't it? It means that it's going to happen, no matter what."

The centaur looked bored. "And?"

My eyes narrowed as I glared at my hands. "Well, I don't like the idea of predestination." I said. "It takes away our choice, and it takes away people's responsibility for their actions. 'Oh, don't arrest me- it was foretold that I would murder that man, I had no choice'."

"Ah." He nodded sagely. "You are speaking of _human_ divination- centaur divination is different. It does not focus on the trivial or the specific. You are nothing in the scheme of the universe- why would the heavens reveal _your_ fate specifically?"

I grinned at him. "Maybe I'm more special than you realise." I joked.

Unamused, he continued. "Centaur divination is an inexact art. It takes years to learn- humans rarely _can_ learn it- and even our most experienced scholars can never be sure of the portents they read."

I frowned, running a hand through my hair. "Well, then that sort of indicates that it _is_ pointless, doesn't it? As an art?"

The centaur sniffed coolly. "You demonstrate the limitations of your kind." He told me, and I wasn't sure whether or not that was meant to be an insult. Perhaps it was just an observation.

Either way, it was time I was off. I stood gracefully, stretching my arms up as far as they could go, and catching sight of the night sky printed on the ceiling. I smiled. "I _like _our limitations- I think they're sort of part of our charm." I told him honestly, tracing the lines of the stars with one lazy finger. And then abruptly, I lowered my arms, meeting his gaze. "Could I have a tail hair?" I asked him.

He didn't look away from me. "No." He said calmly.

I shrugged. "Well, it was good talking to you, at least." I told him with a sweet smile. And then, brushing my fingers along the ferns, I exited the classroom.

Outside, Prudence and Wilhelmina were waiting anxiously. "Did you ask for it?" Wilhelmina breathed, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Yes."

Prudence's eyes lit up. "So he said yes?"

"No." They both looked so forlorn that I couldn't _not_ tell them. "So it's lucky that he moults, isn't it?" I reached over, passing them a long pale hair.

Wilhelmina squealed. "yes! Yes, yes _yes_!" She beamed up at me, taking the hair like it was made of glass. "Thank you, Estelle!" And then they were off, scampering gleefully away.

Jess took a step over until she was standing by my side. "That wasn't a centaur hair, was it?"

I shrugged, patting my long blonde hair. "Guess we'll never ever know."

…..

The potion didn't work.

Nobody was particularly shocked- even Wilhelmina and Prudence didn't seem to mind- and really nobody actually cared. All the older students were studying like mad for their upcoming OWLs, and Jess and I were working on banners for the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

I had thrown myself into designing them with a gusto which shocked even me. The design was inspired, if I do say so myself. I'd made a few different ones, some with snakes leaping out of them. One I'd even charmed to make the snake literally jump out- it would hiss and strike at random, like it was about to bite somebody. A few had ribbons trailing off them, which I'd cut to look like snakes which writhed and twisted in the wind.

My favourite one, though, was painted all in acrylics on a dark green background, and featured a snake devouring a badger. I thought it was hilarious.

It was the night before the game, and I was putting the finishing touches on that poster, when I heard muffled crying from behind Carmeline's bed curtains.

Everybody else was asleep- it was late, and the girls wanted to look their best for the game tomorrow. Usually, I would have left it alone, but this particular crying was increasing in volume- it was turning into sobs.

With a hiss, I tucked my paintbrush behind my ear and strode over to her bed. "Carmeline." I hissed. "What is it? You're _snivelling_."

"Go _away_, Estelle." She replied, her voice muffled, as though she'd jammed her face into her pillows. "Leave me _alone_."

Now I was worried, pausing, I twitched the curtain open a bit. "Carmy? Are you alright…..? _Oh, Putain!_."

Carmeline did not look like Carmeline. She had always been slim and tall, but the thing sitting on her bed was excessively so. She looked as though somebody had grabbed her arms and pulled, stretching her out beyond all sense of proportion. Her shoulders were bony, and curved down, her arms were the length of my legs. Gingerly, I reached out to touch her shoulder. "Carmy…. What?"

'The potion!" She wailed. "I don't know what happened… I think I'm allergic, or something…."

"Or something." I whispered guiltily to myself.

"The others didn't drink it," she sobbed, resting her stretched-out face in her now long-fingered hands. "They were just joking- I only said I wanted to be thinner- I don't know what's happened…"

I put a hand over my mouth in shock. "You… how long have you been like this?"

She shook her head, and I was surprised to see that she was almost entirely flat, like a cartoon. "It just keeps getting worse." She sniffled. "And I tried to charm myself back to normal, but it isn't working."

"_C'est un foutu bordel_." I whispered to myself, and was rewarded by the mental image of my mother slapping my head. Bad language. Very bad.

"You haven't gone to see Madam Pomfrey?" I asked.

Carmeline turned to face me, shooting me a vicious glare through her tears. Even her eyes had stretched- they were now close to round, like little buttons on her face. "No." She hissed. "She won't treat me til I tell her how I got that black eye- and if I tell her, she'll just think _you_ cursed me."

Carmeline was crying even more now, and I felt guilty tears start in my own eyes. "I'm so sorry." I told her. "This is _my_ fault- I didn't think you'd go through with the potion- I gave you one of _my_ hairs!"

"What?" She hissed. "You _what_?"

Alright, now I was actually starting to cry. "This is all my fault." I said. "I thought.. I thought you were just setting me up! I didn't really think you needed a hair."

"We _didn't_." Carmeline snapped. "I was just trying to get you in trouble! I told the others we needed a hair- I thought you'd go and yank one out of his tail and get a detention, but instead you spent half an hour _talking_ to him!"

Now I was angry. "You _what_? You set me up?"

Carmeline put her hands on her hips, looking like some sort of stick insect. "Well _you_ purposefully gave us the wrong ingredients." She snapped. "What is wrong with you?" And then, after a brief silence. "And what am I going to _do_?"

I thought hard. If we couldn't go to Pomfrey…

"Snape."

"Huh?" Carmeline looked at me in confusion.

I had spoken without thinking, but now that it occurred to me, that seemed like the best option. "He's our head of house, _and_ the potions teacher. He'll be able to help. Come on." I pulled her to her feet, and tried not to react when she her head brushed the low ceiling. I gazed up at her, keeping my face blank. "Lets hurry."

If there is anybody else in the world who could relate to what I experienced that night, I'd be very surprised. Never have I felt more like a character in a comedy film than on that night, when I dragged the 2D Carmeline down the hall. I barely reached up to her chest, and even though I was holding her by the hand, we were about a metre and a half away from each other, because her arms were long enough to graze the floor.

When we got to Snape's door, it occurred to me that it was very late, and he would not be pleased. So, in a surge of martyrdom, I told Carmeline to stand around the corner and then knocked on his door.

To my surprise, it swing open almost instantly, and Snape emerged, looking livid. That last part didn't actually surprise me.

"Professor." I said politely. "Good…. Morning?"

"Two weeks' detention." Snape answered instantly. We'd gotten _so_ good at these little exchanges- punishing me was practically as easy as breathing. "What?"

I gestured to Carmeline, and she skulked out of the shadows. To his credit, Snape didn't react noticeably. His eyes widened a little, and his mouth opened a little, but all he did really was nod and step aside to let us in.

His room wasn't what I'd expected, really. It was clean and small, with charts and bottles and books lining the walls. Most of the candles were lit, so the room was hardly dark, and a mug was resting on the table beside an old, worn looking book. He must've been reading when we'd arrived.

"Don't sit." Snape said coolly as I moved towards the dark leather sofa in the corner by the window. "Now." He looked not to Carmeline, but to me again. "How did this happen?"

I felt uncomfortable at being addressed when I hadn't done anything. Still, Carmeline was just staring at her fingers (each of which was now easily the length of my entire hand), so she clearly wasn't going to be much help. "Right. Well, some girls from our Dorm found a spell in Witch Weekly….."

While I was speaking, Snape had moved over to a handsome dark oak cabinet, and was rifling through it, but at those last words he froze, ducking his head out at shooting Carmeline a sneer of deep disdain before continuing with his search. "Yes?" He prompted.

I stifled a yawn. "Um, the others didn't use the potion, but Carmeline….." I caught sight of a small photo lying on one of the tables. I couldn't quite make out the photo, but I could see a flash of vivid red… hair? Suddenly Snape was standing in front of me. "I will send you and your idiotic friend _outside _and back to your rooms if you do not. Stop. Snooping."

I sighed, kicking my feet out and collapsing into one of his chairs. "Fine."

"What was in the potion?" Snape asked, and I rubbed at my eyes, smearing a bit of paint onto my cheek. That's right- I had a paintbrush in my hair.

"I don't know- I didn't make it." I snapped. "Carmy?"

She was sobbing very hard now, and I think she'd actually gotten taller again. When I said her name, she looked up at me, but though she was opening and closing her mouth, nothing was coming out.

"It is possible that her vocal cords have stretched." Snape said, with an air of detached interest.

I tried to think, remembering the girls sitting on the floor. "Well, they had some herbs… Rosemary, and also, something really odd looking- sort of leafy and reddish? The potion was meant to alter whatever aspect of your appearance you hated the most." I said, trying to be helpful. "They were brewing something- it wasn't a cold potion…."

"Anything else?" Snape asked, and I shrugged lamely.

"One more thing…." I felt inexplicably guilty for telling on Carmeline, but I had to. "She might've tried to use a charm to reverse the potion's effects."

Snape turned his sharp gaze back to Carmeline, again looking at her as though there were nothing so pathetic and contemptible in the universe. Except maybe me. "And that's all that you know?" he asked loftily. I yawned again, nodding sleepily. "Well then, Miss Dahlquist- do _not_ fall asleep in my chair! Five points from Slytherin." I shot him a bleary glare. "You may leave- go back to your dorm."

I sat upright, instantly on edge. "No, Professor!" I said firmly. "I'm going to stay with Carmeline til she's … better."

He met my gaze with an odd look in his eyes, and for a moment I thought that perhaps he was going to let me stay. And then, of course, he flicked his wand and I went shooting out of the now open door. It slammed behind me, and I landed rather painfully on my arse.

"Oh, you don't get rid of me _that_ easily." I muttered in furious French, and sat myself against the wall, folding up my cloak to serve as a pillow. "I'm not moving- I'm waiting for my friend."

…..

"You're drooling, Dahlquist."

I am not.

"Dahlquist- Dahlquist, you're _drooling_."

"I am _not_." I opened my eyes, and hissed as I took in the sun pouring in from the windows. Clearly, I'd fallen asleep. I looked up blearily to see Crabbe and Goyle staring down at me. Crabbe shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

"We didn't want to wake you up." He said gruffly. "But you _were_ drooling."

Gingerly, I reached up and touched my mouth. Oh god. How embarrassing. I cleared my throat and stood up, stretching out my cramped limbs. Crabbe and Goyle kept watching me silently, not seeming menacing or angry- just… awkward. "What time is it?" I asked, trying to ease the situation. As though these weren't the idiots I spent a great deal of time mocking.

Goyle shrugged and I realised that they were dressed in their Quidditch gear already. "Late. We waited here so nobody would curse you, but we have to go to the game now."

Confused, I nodded vaguely at them, and they shuffled off without another word. "_So_ weird." I muttered to myself, but to my surprise, I felt a rush of affection, How long had they waited there to protect me from some of the vigilante students? Great, clumping idiots. I smiled again.

"Are you alright?" I turned around to see Harry's bushy haired prefect friend.

"Since when did this corridor become so crowded?" I muttered in French, and the girl scowled.

"Now don't you start _that_ again." She chastised me, once more demonstrating that, despite her claims to the contrary, she _really_ couldn't speak any French at all. And then, peering at me, she frowned. "Did you sleep out here? And what's wrong with your hair?"

I snorted. "Look who's talking." I muttered.

She flushed, and her eyes narrowed. "That isn't nice." She said primly. "And that _wasn't_ what I was saying- I'm asking.. is that _paint_ in your hair?"

What? Confused, I reached up to touch my hair. The whole left side was caked with dry paint, and tucked behind my ear was the culprit- my loyal paint brush. "_Merde_." I swore.

"Don't swear." The girl said promptly. I noticed that she was carrying armfulls of books. Following the direction of my gaze, she sighed. "I'm _studying_- for OWLs?"

"I don't care." I answered automatically. "I have to go… I can't _believe_ Carmeline didn't wake me up! I can't believe Snape left me here!" And then, in one of the least mature moments of my life, I pulled my paintbrush from my now green hair, wet it with some saliva, and painted a giant penis on Snape's door.

"What are you doing?" The prefect gasped.

I grinned maliciously. "Being helpful." Her mouth was still hanging open, so with a sigh I continued. "I'm _labelling_ his office, so everybody knows that a dickhead lives here."

And then I sprinted off.

Jess hailed me as I ran through the Breakfast hall. "Estelle!" She cried. "I saw your posters- they look good." Oh. They'd already found them. I supposed that was good, even if I hadn't had time to finish the last one. I trudged over to her, and her expression changed from cheerful to disgusted. "Unlike _you_." She said. "Why is your hair green."

Taking a seat opposite her, I rubbed my eyes weakly. "Mnph." I muttered at Jess. "_Tired._"

Now that I knew my mission had been accomplished, I felt I could collapse.

She grinned wryly. "Yeah, I can sort of _see_ that." She threw a piece of egg at me. "Oi! Wake up." I gave her the finger and she sighed. "Is this because you spent all night doing those posters?" She asked.

Briefly, I considered telling her, but then I remembered Carmeline's tearful face and shook my head. "Oh, yeah. That's why. Acrylic paint- what a killer."

She watched me for a minute longer then sighed. "I think you should go up to bed." She said. "I'll make excuses to Draco, if you like…."

"No!" I shouted abruptly, standing. "No, I'll go to the game."

"You look disgusting." She told me plainly. "nobody wants to see you like this."

I looked down at myself. I had pulled on an oversized green sweater to paint, and now it was splattered with a million different colours. Under that I was just wearing pyjama pants. Plus there was the pain in my hair to consider. "I look pretty." I told Jess, and she snorted.

"Fine. Suit yourself." And then she narrowed her eyes, evaluating my outfit. "Want to borrow my jeans?" She asked kindly.

"Please." I said, combing through my paint-y hair with my fingers. "Nothing to be done about the hair though- hopefully I just look like I'm supporting Slytherin.

Jess shrugged. "The paint _is_ green." She agreed, shimmying off her jeans. When she caught sight of my expression, she rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that look." She said. "I'm wearing stockings underneath- I wasn't sure which I was going to go with because this top works as a dress. Are you wearing anything underneath that sweater?"

I shrugged. "Bra." I said simply, and Jess laughed.

"Maybe keep that on, then." She said, handing me her jeans. Gratefully, I pulled them on. They were _very_ fitted, luckily, so at least I looked casual instead of frumpy. When I was done, she handed me a stick of eyeliner, and I shook my head. "No thank you. I think I'll leave it today."

She nodded, looking amused, and together we headed out to the pitch. As we got close, Jess clung to my arm affectionately. "You did a _really_ great job with the banners." She told me happily. "I love the one where the badger is getting eaten by the snake- the enchantments are amazing."

"Huh? I didn't have time to enchant that one…." I said, confused, and then I caught sight of it. My painting was there, expanded to three times its normal size, and charmed ingeniously. Now, the badger ran around in circles, looking terrified, before the snake, resting calmly in the middle, reached out and bit into it, and which point globs of red paint appeared on the green fabric as the badger writhed in its death throes. "I didn't do that." I said, at a loss. "I could never do that- I'm not that good at charms…."

"Hi." I turned around to see Carmeline standing awkwardly behind us. She was, thankfully, a normal height and weight.

I smiled. "You look good." I said. "I don't- somebody left me _sleeping in the hallway_."

Carmeline had the decency to blush, but didn't acknowledge that. "The posters look great." She enthused, and suddenly something occurred to me- something that should have been quite obvious.

I wasn't that amazing at charms. But Carmeline, Carmeline _was_. She must have finished off the main banner for me. I couldn't help but smile. Of _course_ we weren't going to apologise to each other- this was better.

"Yeah." I said, grinning and taking her arm. "We did a good job."

Jess didn't react in the slightest, as though Carmeline and I had been on good terms for_ever_, and our behaviour wasn't at all unexpected. "Are we going to get a seat then, girls?" She asked lightly.

And, laughing, the three of us trooped up the stands, ready to watch the Quidditch.

…..

Later, Draco would express regret that the first game I'd ever actually bothered to watch had been such a disaster.

I didn't bother telling him that I hadn't really watched _that_ game, either. There was no point in adding salt to the wound.

Anyway, Slytherin was decimated by Hufflepuff, which the entire house found utterly humiliating. Nobody would talk to the Quidditch team for the entire week leading up to the Quidditch final, between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

I couldn't have cared less.

_I_ was too busy fending off a double assault from Jess and Carmeline, which made me wonder why I bothered with friends at all. The two of them were embroiled in fierce debate as they tried to establish whether I was desperately in love with Harry or Blaise.

This kept up for ages. In fact, they didn't even break apart from the topic after Gryffindor seized the Quidditch cup, throwing our entire house into a deep funk.

Perhaps _that_ was why, a few days after Quidditch season finished, I was hiding from my friends out in one of the main courtyards. I'd left anything to indicate my house back in the dorm, because lately Slytherins were prone to being cursed at random. And besides, when I was just another student, nobody bothered me. I'd brought my cloak, because the weather was unseasonably cool that day, but I'd discarded it after somebody had shouted something about a snake.

Now, I was just a random girl, sitting by herself and reading a book. I could have been anybody, and nobody cared. It was perfect.

The courtyard was fairly full that day. With OWLs looming, older students were prowling the grounds, offering mystery drugs and spells, guaranteed to raise the grades of their customers.

I loved watching their covert deals. The Ravenclaws were the worst- their desperation to be the smartest warred with their tendencies to follow the rules, and several of them had had actual breakdowns right in front of me.

So I watched my peers scramble madly, working themselves into a frenzied panic about their grades, but I didn't speak to anybody.

I told myself that I just wanted to be left alone for a while.

But I stopped pretending _that_ when I caught sight of a familiar figure strolling through the courtyard, holding a goblet of pumpkin juice and a soggy piece of toast.

"Potter!" I couldn't keep the grin off of my face. Harry turned around, caught sight of me, and strode to my side, smiling widely.

"Hi, Estelle." He said. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged, snapping my book closed. "Getting away from the bitter mood in the Dungeons." I answered honestly. "Everybody's furious about the Quidditch thing."

If it was possible, his smile got even wider. "You mean Gryffindor winning?" He asked. "You mean Ron making all those saves?"

My smile was starting to mirror his. "I don't know- I didn't go."

Harry's smile faded. "Neither did I, actually." He said to himself. I wondered absently if he was feeling unhappy because they'd won the cup without him.

I had vague memories of an awkward conversation early on in our… friendship? He _liked_ Quidditch. He _missed_ Quidditch. I frowned. "I'm sorry that you didn't get to play." I said, and he looked up at me, surprised. "I know you find this…. Hard." I said haltingly, and he grinned.

"Estelle," He said cheerfully. "Are you _empathising_ with me? Really?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I can stop any time.. believe me, I'd be happy to."

Harry shook his head vigorously. "No, no! I like it."

There was an uncomfortably long pause.

"I should really be studying." He said finally, rumpling his hair with one large hand. "OWLs are just around the corner. Hermione keeps telling me to study."

I laughed. "Oh, you know, I rather _like_ being younger than you. I'll always be there, laughing at your stress."

He gave me a lopsided smile. "There's Eddie Carmichael." He said, pointing at one of the Ravenclaws milling around. "I almost bought some Brain Elixir off of him."

My mouth curved into an amused smile. "Hmn? If you thought that'd work, maybe you _do_ need Brain Elixir." I teased. "How did it work out?"

He ducked his head. "Hermione found me- poured it down the sink."

I shot him a smile. "It's like a black market in here." I said wryly. "With all the dirty deals going on in the corners and the shadows… there'll be brothels springing up next."

Beside me, Harry spat out his pumpkin juice in shock. It was incredibly difficult not to laugh. "Brothels?" He asked hoarsely, clambering to sit up on the wall I'd been leaning against. "Why would there be brothels?"

I shrugged, jumping up to sit on the wall beside him. "Oh, there are always brothels in dens of sin and vice." I told him, mustering an air of authority. "And speaking of sin and vice, that is an _impressive_ example of PDA."

Harry looked up at me, bemused, and I nodded towards a couple, locked at the lips on one of the benches. It was a pretty sixth year Ravenclaw girl and Davies. Beside me, Harry stiffened. "Oh." He said. I nudged him, and he sighed. "That's- well, that's Cho Chang, isn't it?"

I blinked. "I have absolutely no idea." I said. "What's a 'Chang'?"

Harry looked wistful and tired. "She's my… well, we dated for a bit, I guess." I shot him a look and he shrugged. "Alright, _one_ date. And it was terrible. Soggy." I shot him _another_ look, and he shrugged once more. "What? She cries a lot."

I swung my feet against the wall, exhaling loudly. "Well. Are you jealous?"

He shot me a surprised look. "What?"

In front of us, Chang and Davies continued to canoodle.

"Are you jealous?" I repeated simply. He still looked so confused that I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, come _on_, Potter. It isn't a difficult question."

"Maybe." He agreed slowly. "But it isn't one anybody's asked me before."

"Oh." I managed to stay quiet for a moment. And then "But _are_ you?" The look he gave me was sheepish and uncomfortable. "Oh, so you _are_ a little."

"But I'm over her!" He assured me. "It doesn't really make sense."

"It makes perfect sense!" I insisted. "She used to be yours, and now you have to watch somebody else playing with her. Like a kid in a sandpit- possessive instincts kick in…" I threw my hands in the air to illustrate. "We humans can't help it. We don't _like _logic." And then, feeling mischievous, I shot him another look. "Want to make _her_ jealous?"

He blinked, and I wondered how it was that anybody could be quite that innocent. Were all Gryffindors this clueless when it came to manipulation, or was this a quality specific to the Boy Who Lived?

In any case, he looked adorable sitting there. His perplexed frown had made the scar on his forehead crinkle a little, and his eyes looked across between surprised and serious.

Before I realised it, I had slid in closer. He didn't jump or start, like I thought he might, but his frown deepened as I reached out and took his hand. "What are you doing, Estelle?" He asked seriously.

I smiled, lacing our fingers. "I'm not wearing my tie." I pointed out. "Or my scarf, and my cloak is over there somewhere." I waved my other hand vaguely behind me. "So when your Chang looks up, she won't see Harry Potter looking cosy with a Slytherin, she'll see him being cosy with….. well, just a girl."

Harry blinked. "Um." He said lamely. "_Cosy_?"

Was it possible? Was he really that slow on the uptake? I gave him a slow smile and scooted just a little closer, playing with his fingers.

It was for _his_ benefit that I was doing this. I'd done the same for Blaise, and even Marcus Cleevebridge when their exes were hanging around. It was a _friendly_ thing, with nothing romantic about it. It was me being helpful- I got nothing out of it, and we'd have a good laugh about the whole thing later.

But regardless of the fact that I _knew_ all of that, my heart was beating faster and my cheeks were flushing. _Finally_, a small, tiny part of me seemed to be whispering. _About time_.

"I'm doing you a favour." I told him softly, but I knew that I was just reminding myself. I leaned in a little closer, tilting my head up to meet his. He was frozen, stuck staring at me like a rabbit caught in the headlights, but when I quirked my eyebrow, as if to say 'well?' his eyes heated a little, and he leaned down. I could feel butterflies in the pit of my stomach as he closed his eyes. "Now she can get a taste of her own medicine." I breathed.

And then, instantly, he froze again. "What?" he asked. I blinked up at him. Apparently realising how close we still were, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and leant back. "Is that what you were doing?" he asked sternly, although he was blushing a little. "Are you just trying to manipulate Cho?"

Huh? "What's a 'Cho'?" I asked, confused. And then it occurred to me. "Alright- Cho Chang. Of course- you just told me that." He just stared at me, clearly still waiting for an answer. I sighed and pushed my hair back off of my face. "Are you really asking me this?" I asked, flippantly, but he looked so serious that I forced myself to drop the act. Sighing again, I pulled a fag from behind my ear and lit it on the tip of my wand. "Alright, here goes." I said softly to myself. "Um- first of all, I don't really discuss feelings."

"You do with me." Harry pointed out, still looking very solemn.

I considered that, taking a thoughtful drag. "I _do_." I admitted. "And that's why I'm still talking. Normally I'd have insulted you and walked off by now." I paused, lost in thought. How did one _do_ this- talk about feelings like this? Wasn't it obvious? Why did it need to be set out? "That isn't the _only_ reason." I said finally. "In fact, it isn't even the biggest reason."

Harry nodded. "Alright."

I took another drag, then turned to him, annoyed. "Do we _have_ to do this?" I demanded. "It's so awkward and embarrassing!"

He nodded again. "Lots of people do it."

"_I_ don't." I said, more viciously than I'd meant to. He just sat there, waiting. "There aren't a lot of people in my life I can trust." I said finally, and felt his posture shift beside me as he processed this. Feeling terrible embarrassed, I licked my lips, stalling for time. "I know the Malfoys care about me, on some level. But I don't trust them, never have. So, they don't _really_ know me, because I don't talk to them. I have friends- good friends- but I don't talk to them either. I just- I don't feel _right_ telling other people about my problems." I ran a hand through my hair. "They're _my_ problems- why should anybody else be involved?"

"Sometimes things are too big to handle alone." Harry said softly. "It doesn't make you weak."

I shot him a look. "Don't patronise me." I told him, sharply. "I don't stand for that. I _know_ sharing doesn't make you weak- it makes you strong, because you are confident enough in yourself to be open like that. I'm not. The point is, nobody really knows me, because I don't let them." I took a deep breath. "I don't know you well." I told him. "You seem ridiculously nice. And too sweet. You're not at all like anybody else I'm friends with- but I trust you. I trust you to be honest with me, to not lie to me. I've trusted you with things I've never trusted _anybody_ with."

What if he didn't feel the same? What if this was a joke? What if he laughed? What if I sounded stupid. I knew it- I sound stupid. He would think I was an idiot. I _am_ an idiot. God, why did people do this 'talking' thing?

"So, I sort of feel I can trust you with…you know… other things?" I was blushing and I _never_ blushed. "I feel like, if I can be myself with you, then you actually know me more than anybody else, even if we don't actually know each other that well. Because you know the _true_ bits of me- the bits that other people don't see. So I suppose that I want you to like me, because if you like me then it means more than if the others like me, because you'd _really_ be liking me."

I was blabbering- could I _be_ less eloquent? I would never have started this conversation if I'd thought it would lead here.

"I _do_ like you, Estelle." Harry said firmly. "I really do. I think you're amazing."

I met his gaze, willing myself to stop blushing. "You don't have to say that." I said, but then, without meaning to, I was leaning in again.

"Estelle- wait. I don't think we should…" My eyes snapped open to meet Harry's worried ones.

Alright. _That_ was fairly straight forward.

Some people say they don't handle rejection well. I myself had never known, because I'd never really put myself out there. Not til that moment.

So now, with confidence, I could say that I most definitely did _not_ handle rejection well, either.

I hopped down from the wall. "That's fine, Potter." I said, looking away from him, my mind desperately whirring, trying to think of a way to brush this off. Inside, my stomach was churning- how could I have been so stupid? How could I have opened myself up like that? To _Potter_ of all people? _Maman_ would never have been so foolish- she would have let him open up first, and he would've, in a second.

"Estelle." I turned around to see Blaise coming towards me. Perfect- my knight in… well, black jeans? He cast a gaze up at Potter, sitting on the wall, and his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged, shooting him my brightest smile. Acting, I could do. Acting I was good at. "Nothing." I answered. "Nothing important."

"Estelle.." That was Potter, still sitting up on the wall, looking guilty. Well, too late. And how _dare_ he pity me?

I didn't even look at him. I kept my eyes fixed on Blaise. "Shall we?" I asked. "I meant to talk to you about your OWL times…." Gently, I pulled him away, and grudgingly he came with me, eyes still narrowed.

He waited til we were around the corner, away from Potter, and then wrenched his arm free, shooting me a vicious glare. "Don't _do_ that." He hissed at me.

Confused, I shrugged. "Do what? Talk to Potter? Don't worry- I'm finished with that. It was stupid."

Blaise didn't look placated. "I don't give a _fuck_ who you talk to." He hissed. "Talk to the giant squid if you want- I couldn't care less. But don't you _ever_ use me to make somebody else jealous. Don't you ever do that."

And then, with one last scowl, he flicked his cloak and stormed off, drawing admiring glances from every girl he passed.

.

.

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A/N: Alright! there it is. To all of you who wanted an Estelle/Harry relationship, here is the proof that Estelle would be open to it.

I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to get to you... I was suffering from awful, awful writer's block. But I know what might cure it- more reviews :)

And on that note, thanks to my 5 reviewers for the last chapter.  
>I really appreciate it, guys!<p>

I'd love it if we could double those numbers for this chapter. Love it? hate it? Let me know. I'm not sure about it myself...

Now: to **katchile94** and **ali_,_**I promise that Estelle will see Sirius before he dies. And I will try and do it justice, because they deserve it... but at this stage, he is going to die. I'm not saying that that won't change- I might not be able to kill him off again when it comes down to it, but I _do_like to keep things mostly canon.

We'll see. And thank you for taking the time to give me advice and telling me what you would like to happen! I really do appreciate it!

**Agent of Fire**- I'm so glad you like my story :) First up, just a note on Estelle's name. It isn't a big deal, but maybe this will make you like it more? You might know that 'Estelle' means 'star' in French. Estelle's mum never officially acknowledged Sirius was Estelle's father, but she named her daughter 'Estelle' as a nod to the Black tradition of naming the children after stars. It was her way of including Sirius in Estelle's life and birth, even from a distance. Any better?  
>Also- I really really want Estelle to be friends with the Weasleys! Right now I'm desperately trying to think of a way to make that work, but I promise you I'm trying... at the very least, she'd love to be friends with Fred and George, and I want to expand on that. You will definitely see more of her interaction with them as time passes. I'll let you know that she'll also meet Arthur Weasley and Bill Weasley at the very least.<br>As for her and Harry.. well, this chapter expands on that, a little. But they don't end up together... not yet, anyway. Again, i'll probably keep it canon at the end, but that doesn't mean that things can't happen in between.  
>Thanks for the review!<p>

And finally, **momorocks101ful** and **andiescandieee_-_**thanks so much, guys! It means a lot to me that you like my story :) Let me know what you think of this one.


	15. Chapter 15

I was too embarrassed to go anywhere near Harry for the next week.

I didn't know what to say, or what I _could_ say- he'd rejected me, and not in such a way that I could really complain, either. He hadn't been cruel, so for me to be cruel to him would be awful, and 'cruel' was sort of my default reaction when I got defensive. But I couldn't do it, not when I remembered how guilty he'd looked as he'd pulled away- like he'd felt _bad_, like he regretted hurting me. But that in itself made me furious- what gave him the right to assume that his rejection would hurt me so? Still, although I knew he'd meant nothing by it, it was clear that I couldn't act the same around him, with this constant air of tension between us- the huge, sexually charged elephant in the room.

This was exactly why I didn't go after boys. We have childbirth to contend with later down the road- surely they can have the stress of the whole courtship/mating ritual thing?

So, to avoid Harry's predictable awkward apologetic eyes and empathetic smiles, I just avoided him.

And that was good, because he had exams, anyway. OWLs had begun, striking fear and panic into the hearts of even the most laidback students, and Slytherins (recongising this as a rite of passage which would affect their futures) were no different.

Study became insane. The Common Room stopped being fun- now there was a sort of pall cast over it. You'd enter, laughing and talking as was right and natural, but the second your foot crossed the threshold…

It was terrifying. Instead of students lounging, the desks were full of students _studying_- studying with odd, manic expressions on their faces. And that was nothing compared to the few students in every batch who seemed to cave under the pressure, and were sitting on the couches in the foetal position, assumedly contemplating the vast wasteland that was their future.

My housemates had slipped into different stereotypes. There were the Tracy Davises-organised to a fault, with their notes colour coded _and_ alphabetised. There were the Dracos, who became snappy and curt and ever more frantic as exams drew nearer. There were the Crabbe and Goyles, who would stare dumbly at their textbooks for hours, as though their mere presence in the same room as the books counted as studying.

There were the Blaises- students who just seemed to have disappeared entirely, like the pressure of OWLs had caused them to vapourise.

There were the Pansys, who shrieked and wailed and disrupted _everybody _else so much that, by the end of the day you stopped feeling sorry for her because you could still see the stubs of her horns through her hair, and started wondering why whoever cursed her had stopped at the antlers.

It was a broiling, chaotic mess of hormones, stress and spells. Incidentally, who thought it'd be a good idea to give teenagers the use of magic, anyway? Never did _that_ logic seem more sketchy than during exams, when everybody was charming everything in a last ditch effort to prove that they weren't actually as incompetent as they appeared.

And the madness existed outside of the dungeons, too.

The libraries were packed with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs- Seth Hinesburg from sixth year told me that a couple of Ravenclaw seventh years were actually _living_ in the library. He said that they hung around the back corner, with all the books that nobody wanted to pick and slept under the shelves, far from Madam Pince's sharp eyes.

There were a few Slytherins, too, whom nobody had seen for months. And whenever you asked one of their stressed-out friends about them, the answer was always the same: "Studying. They're _studying_." If they _were_ studying, though, I doubt they'd be efficient seeing as they hadn't been seen at mealtimes for over three days.

But on the first day of the fifth year OWLs, I was really confronted with the pre-exam craziness. Usually, the sixth and seventh years kept to themselves enough that I didn't really get the full impression of exam insanity. But now…. Now my peers had begun their ordeal.

….

"Est_elle_."

"Mmph." I rolled over, burrowing my head in my pillow.

"Is she dead?" I heard somebody- Kasey Donnovan, Wilhelmina's best friend?- ask, sounding serious. I felt a finger poking insistently at my side. "She is, isn't she? Dead, I mean."

Somebody else in the room sighed. "No." Ah. Jess. You alone are sensible "Or, at least not in the normal sense of the word… she _is_ 'dead to the world', though. She just…. Doesn't usually wake up so early."

"It's 8:30." Kasy sounded annoyed. "Lessons start in half an hour- she doesn't normally wake up this early?"

"Don't try to understand it." Wilhelmina said solemnly. "But she spends more time asleep than awake."

"Not today!" This voice was frighteningly loud and right in my ear. "_Today_, exams begin. Today, they are closing breakfast a little earlier. _Today_ you need to come now if you want to eat."

"I don't want to eat." I mumbled sleepily. "Food is dumb." I cracked open one eye to observe Jess' reaction

She'd thrown her hands into the air, clearly exasperated beyond all reason. "She says that _now_." She told Wilhelmina and Kasey wearily. "And then half way through first period, _what_ do you think she starts moaning about?"

"How annoying you are!" I snapped. "That's about when I start noticing how annoying you are." Jess sighed, flicking her wand once to yank to covers off of me. Defeated, I sat up, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "I _hate_ being conscious." I told my spectators angrily. "It's no fun at all."

"Don't be silly." Jess chastised, throwing my robes at me. "It's lots of fun, really. Isn't it, girls?" Wilhelmina, Prudence and Kasey all began to nod dutifully, until I shot them a glare strong enough to cause them physical pain.

"It isn't _that_ fun." Prudence offered diplomatically. "I mean, it has its good points, yes…." She stopped speaking as a hairbrush flew past her face. "Jess, do you _have_ to be this aggressive."

Feeling conciliatory, I smiled gently. "Oh, yes. I won't ever get up, otherwise."

Jess only said, "socks," and threw a pair at my head. "You'll have to brush your hair on the way down- toothbrush."

Rubbing my eyes, I reached out a hand and caught it absently. Kasey let out a low whistle. "Nice catch, Elle." She said approvingly.

I shot her a bleary smile. "Oh, we've done this before." I told her nonchalantly. "Why are you here, Kase?"

She smiled at me, flipping her honey blonde hair over one shoulder. "Oh, Wilhelmina and I had a _girls_ night, so I slept in here! Isn't that great?"

"_So_ great." I said, mustering as much enthusiasm as I could. Clearly feeling that I wasn't moving quite fast enough, Jess hit me over the head with one of my shoes. "Okay, _tres bien_, I'm up!"

We powered downstairs, me yawning the whole way. It felt like some sort of surreal dream- literally, because I actually was at least partially asleep. As we tumbled towards the Great Hall (and more importantly, breakfast) Jess explained to me just _why_ we were in such a ridiculous rush.

I didn't really listen. Something about closing the whole Hall off for exams which began at nine.. it all seemed irrelevant, anyway, seeing as I was actually already on my way down. We met Carmeline at the entrance, standing sort of awkwardly with a confused looking Elliot Pucey.

"Hey guys?" Jess said suspiciously, and Carmeline shot her a wobbly smile. "What's going on?"

"H-hey." She said. "Oh- nothing, nothing. We're just a little bit….. stuck to the floor." As she spoke, Elliot swore viciously, tugging at his feet. "See, Pucey was practicing a sticking charm…"

Jess' eyes widened. "And he got _you_? Pucey, you git!"

Elliot looked appropriately shamefaced. "I didn't mean to." Jess raised an eyebrow. "Okay, well I _did_ mean to cast the spell- it's on the curriculum. It's just- we- I.. well, I'm _trying_ to fix it."

Feeling the need to contribute to his chastisement, I threw my brush at him. "And that's your method?" I asked, as scathingly as I could midway through a yawn. "Trying to lift your feet up? You didn't think maybe.. oh, I don't know.. a _counter curse_ might be more effective?"

Already I felt more energised- contempt is better than coffee at waking you up.

Elliot looked even _more_ shamefaced than before. "I may have.. left the book in my room." Taking one look at Jess' face, he scowled. "Oh, back off, Osyth!" He snapped. "Warrington _told_ me that if you read the textbook just before the exam, you're more likely to forget everything!"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, and _Warrington_ is just the model of a perfect student, isn't he? Who wouldn't take study advice from _Warrington_?"

Wilhelmina, Prudence and Kasey stood behind us, quietly bored. "Can we go eat now?" Kasey asked finally. "I'm _hungry_."

"Well, I'm fine here." Carmeline said, sounding just _slightly_ sarcastic. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Look I said I was sorry, Burke!" Elliot spat. "I just really needed to practice sticking spells- I suck at them."

"Clearly practice _does_ make perfect." I drawled sweetly. "Maybe, though, next time don't practice on humans."

He daggered me something fierce. "I was aiming for the pot plant." He muttered through his scowl.

I raised an eyebrow. "With our chaser boasting skills like that, it truly is a mystery to me how we didn't manage to win the Quidditch cup." I said wryly. "you're a _star_, Elliot. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

For the first time in ages, Elliot shot me a look which _didn't_ suggest that he was picturing me naked. "Go to hell, Dahlquist." He grumbled, and I laughed.

"Oh, maybe I _will_. Seeing as how- unlike _some_ people- I'm not glued to the floor."

With a sympathetic glance at Carmeline, Jess pulled me into the Great Hall. "Carmy, we'll come and check on you later, alright?" She gave us a sad little wave as the doors swung shut behind us. Instantly, Jess turned to me. "That was hilarious." She said, deadpan. "Pucey is a nutcase. Don't remember why I ever liked him. Don't understand why _you_ ever snogged him." She paused. "Don't remember why we never discussed that….."

I laughed nervously, hoping she'd drop the subject. Thankfully, she spotted Draco and the others, thereby completely losing track of her train of thought. With lightning speed, she darted in to seize two spots on the bench across from Pansy and Blaise, and it was lucky she'd taken the initiative.

Because I was distracted. Breakfast- when involving hundreds of teenagers- is always going to be chaos, but today was much much worse. The Great Hall was filled with beams of light and poofs of smoke as people practiced spells left right and centre. Completely bedazzled, I took my spot as Jess dragged me towards the table, sitting me resolutely opposite Blaise, who acknowledged my presence with a disdainful nod. Like I cared, anyway.

We'd been a little chilly with each other, a little distant, since our exchange in the courtyard. But that had begun to wear off now, and we seemed to be returning to our previous habits. That didn't mean, though, that I wasn't still irrationally angry with him, mostly because I now associated him with my humiliation. But no matter how frosty I was, he just kept making the effort.

"We just passed Elliot in the hall." I told Draco absently, looking away from Blaise with perfect nonchalance.

"Hmph." Draco muttered distractedly. "And how is he?"

"Stuck." I answered promptly, and Draco actually looked up at me, grabbing his goblet for a swig of juice.

"Stuck?" He repeated dumbly, wiping his mouth quickly on his sleeve before looking back at his textbook. "On a particular spell?"

"More like _in_ a particular spell." I mused. "He was practicing a sticking charm- now he and Carmeline are sort of…." I waved my hand, searching for an appropriate word, but Draco had already stopped listening. Disgruntled, I snatched a bread roll and tore a piece off. "Well, the charm worked, anyway." I looked around the table briefly, admiring the frantic expressions on everybody's faces. Ah- exams.

"Watch out!" I heard somebody call, and Jess squealed as break basket she'd been reaching for burst into flames. A sixth year ran over, brandishing his wand and babbling incantations until a stream of water poured from his wand, saturating the table. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then he shrugged. "Sorry- OWLs."

I looked to Jess, whose hand was a rather angry shade of red, and gaped. "Breakfast is more dangerous than I remember." I told her, in awe.

She shook her head, still looking dazed- "No- only during OWLs." As she spoke, there was a muted sort of BANG noise and everybody jumped.

"Well _now_ what's happening?" I demanded as the salt shaker in front of Crabbe exploded. "Why is the breakfast attacking? Is this revenge? Is it taking a stand against being eaten?"

"We're _studying_ Estelle!" Draco snapped. "So shut up- this requires concentration."

I turned to Jess, completely confused. "What are they studying for?" I asked, as Pansy muttered something slightly too loud and her cutlery began to dance a jig on the table. "Is the exam on ruining breakfast?"

Jess shook her head. "Charms, I think." She said with a frown. "Blaise, what exam is it?"

He shrugged. "Damned if I know." He said casually. "I gave up on this studying thing a while ago." I shot a glance his way, taking in his immaculate appearance and calm demeanour. Catching my gaze, he grinned. "Like what you see, Dahlquist?" He drawled.

Flirting openly now? Unusual.

I shrugged, disinterested. "Eh." I looked away. "Your cheat sheet is sticking out of your sleeve." I told him, nodding at his left arm. He flushed an angry shade of red and sat upright.

"I guess that sort of casts a little bit of a bad light on your whole 'I don't study' thing." Jess said, grinning.

"No, it _enforces_ it." Blaise sniffed. "It means I didn't bother studying at all."

I smiled mock-sympathetically at him. "And clearly, you didn't bother listening to the Professors, either." I said. "Anti-cheating spells on every paper? Supervision? Those annoying little spinny things!"

"Sneakoscopes ." Jess supplied helpfully.

Blaise looked down his nose at us. "Well, you know what _I_ think, Dahlquist?"

I sighed. "Not specifically, but going from past experiences, it involves this conversation somehow demonstrating how I want to get into your pants."

He frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Milicent Bulstrode misworded her engorgement charm and managed to fill the ears of everybody in a two metre radius with the most irritating ringing noise ever. Luckily, Jess and I had sat just outside the spell's range.

Blaise was less lucky.

I was all for staying to watch him suffer, but Jess shoved a peach and a mug of coffee in my hand and whispered. "10 minutes til the exam starts." And then in a rush, we were bustled out of the Great Hall by the crowd.

As we exited, carried along by the crowd, we passed Elliot and Carmeline standing desolately in the same place as before. Elliot was looking more and more frantic, firing spell after spell at the ground. Carmeline just looked tired.

"Tell Professor Snape that I'll be late today." She called, and we waved. Just before the crowd hid them from view, I saw Pucey swear crudely and sink to the ground to try and take off his shoes.

Jess and I exchanged identical looks. "Drop out of school and join a circus?" I suggested casually.

Jess grinned. "I get to be the tightrope walker." She said firmly. "I've _always_ wanted to be a tightrope walker."

….

If that breakfast had been bad, dinner was worse. The hall was practically empty of students above the age of fourteen- everybody seemed to have chosen study over food.

Glancing around the near-empty Slytherin table, I shrugged at Jess and Carmeline, nonplussed. "I guess the exams went badly, then?"

Carmeline nodded, wincing with every step we took towards our seats. Eventually, Elliot's resistance to calling a Professor to help had worn down. Of course, that was only after two hours. Now Carmeline's feet were red and tender, still recovering from being ripped bodily from the floor. "I reckon so." She agreed, sitting down carefully. "At least, though, we get a good pick of the food."

"So we'll be well fed, but bored." Jess grumbled, serving herself some potato bake with a disgruntled expression. "I think I'd rather have everybody down here again. None of the other houses are all MIA."

I cast a glance around the Great Hall. Jess was right- most of the Ravenclaws seemed to be present, although they weren't at all rowdy. They were sitting at their table, most with textbooks placed neatly in front of them, and chatting smugly amongst themselves. The Hufflepuffs looked tired, but cheerful. The Gryffindors were…. Well, Gryffindors.

As my eyes travelled across their table, they snagged on Harry, who was sitting with Bushy Hair and Weasley. Bushy hair looked like a mess- her hair was even bushier than normal and seemed to have quills sticking out of it. I couldn't help but wonder if she even knew they were there. Perhaps she'd forgotten them- she looked like a demented porcupine. Weasley and Harry looked tired, but otherwise fine. At that moment, Harry looked up and our eyes met.

I looked away quickly, before he could wave or do something equally stupid.

"Well, I've had just about enough." Jess was complaining from my left. "Who needs food? _I_ need entertainment- lets go back to the Dungeons."

"Don't be stupid." Carmeline interrupted. "We haven't even had pudding yet."

"What fun is pudding when there is no side of 'gossip' to sweeten it." Jess demanded, leaning on her interlaced fingers and batting her eyelashes. "I want Blaise. And Draco. Even Pansy." When Carmeline and I shot her incredulous looks, she sat up, defensive. "What? Pansy's always good for a laugh."

I shrugged. "I thought laughing at the insane sort of went out of fashion back in the 1800s- with Bedlam." Carmeline grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes, picking up a bunch of grapes- the dessert had arrived.

Jess harrumphed, crossing her arms angrily. "_Please_, girls!" She moaned. "Even Kasey and Heloise are in the dungeons." She _must've_ been desperate if she'd brought up her own dorm-mates- she loathed Heloise Grahams. "And I don't see Wilhelmina or Prudence down here- do you?"

Reluctantly, Carmeline and I stood up, eyeing the dessert wistfully. "Oh, wait." I paused, reaching out and picking up a plate. "Draco loves apple crumble- we'd better bring him a little."

Carmeline's eyes sparkled as the shrewdness beneath her sweet exterior came into play. "Oh, we should bring some dessert for _everyone_- they'd like that. Who knows what Blaise's favourite dessert is? And Montague's? They'd like cheesecake, don't you think?"

"Probably." Jess said, looking speculative. "But why would you bother?" There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Carmeline gave an ashamed little smile, and somehow Jess understood. "Oh, _Carmeline_- already?"

She shrugged defensively. "Mother told me that she'd already met father by the time she was fifteen. And in these…. Uncertain times…. She really thinks I'd better at least start looking."

"_Already_?" Jess moaned, just as I looked up frowning and asked. "Uncertain times?"

Carmeline ignored both of us, picking up her plate and walking towards the exit. Nonplussed, Jess and I followed. As we passed the Gryffindor table, I met Harry's eyes again- he was watching as I passed him, face completely unreadable . "Estelle?" I heard Jess query warningly, and I realised I must be staring. Quickly, I made my gaze slide over him, as though I'd just been doing a quick sweep of the hall.

"Hmnn?" I turned back to her.

She was watching me, clearly suspicious, and the knowing look in her eyes was a little too much for me to handle. I hadn't _done_ anything! "Nothing." She said, but her voice was laden with significance.

I shot her the brightest smile I could manage, then turned my back sharply on Harry, marching out of the hall as though I hadn't a care in the world.

Almost as soon as we re-entered the dungeons, we regretted our decision. The place was terribly oppressive. Huddles of people were studying in corners, and mostly the only sound was the flutter of old pages being turned in old, festy books. I turned to Jess with a sweet smile. "Well. Looks like _everybody_ has lots to talk about. Where should we start?" As one, our housemates turned around to shush us, causing Carmeline to dagger us both and stride over to Montague's side, holding the platter of desserts. "Well." I said, watching her attempt to flirt.

Jess folded her arms and sighed. "This isn't going to work. Not at _all_. She still seems too young to them- of _course_ she does. They won't even take a cake." We watched as both Montague and Warrington reached out, smiling gratefully at her as they helped themselves to some profiteroles. Jess bit her lip. "Well, of _course_ they'll take a cake- they're boys. Boys need to eat. Doesn't mean that they'll marry her!"

"That would be odd." I agreed. "Marrying somebody like that, just because they brought you a profiterole." My eyes fell on Blaise, who seemed to be convulsing on the couch.

"I honestly don't know what her mother is thinking." Jess continued. "I mean, she couldn't really marry until she was at _least_ seventeen, and that's not for ages. And none of them will want her anyhow. The Burkes are a dead line."

"You're jealous?" I asked, watching as Blaise continued to move erratically. It looked sort of like her was shaking something vigorously, but I couldn't see what.

Jess laughed. "Me? Jealous? _No_!" There was a moment of blissful silence, in which I thought I saw the edges of a silver, jar-shaped container in Blaise's hands. And then: "I mean, why would _I_ be jealous? I can get married, too! And I will, and I don't need to start preparations for that _two full years_ earlier."

"Right, Jess." I said absently, then nodded over at Blaise. "Has he finally lost it, do you think?"

Jess wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Well, best let Carmeline know." She said bitterly. "Her mother won't want her marrying into a family with mental illnesses." At that moment, something seemed to occur to her. "Actually, maybe _don't_ tell Carmeline…."

I moved away from her, heading straight for the couches. Straight for the idiot _on_ the couches. "What is _that_?" I asked, collapsing on the seat next to Blaise.

It was a moment before I realised that I was no longer angry with him. In fact, I'd sort of missed him.

He, in turn, seemed to have decided he wasn't at all angry with me ages before. In fact Jess had even commented on the fact that he seemed to _look_ for me now, and his mood when I was around were suspiciously... cheerful. Now, he shot me a devilish grin, and placed the steel container carefully on the coffee table in front of us. "It's a cocktail shaker." He told me, sounding nonchalant. "I'm making Flaming Hippogriffs." I raised an eyebrow, and on his other side, Pansy let out an exasperated hiss.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" She snapped at me, as though a lack of cocktail knowledge was utterly inexcusable, and yet more proof of my inferior breeding. "You take two parts of ginger ale to every one part of firewhiskey, squeeze a lime on top.."

"And set it on fire."

I nodded at them. "Oh. Okay." They looked very pleased with themselves, and with my reaction. It was as though I'd somehow reaffirmed their coolness. "So, you've shifted from 'not giving a damn' to actually trying to sabotage your own OWL grades?"

Pansy made a face. "You're just jealous." She snapped.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, yeah. Man, if only _I_ too could sit an exam tomorrow with a hangover the size of Russia." I shot Blaise a wink. "I really _like_ the way Slytherins study."

"Ah, Estelle." Blaise's grin- and those were rare enough lately- was slow and lazy. "Unfortunately, not everybody has the good taste to study _our_ way." He nodded pointedly over at the little huddle by the fire. I smiled- they looked like little beggars, with their shoulders all hunched, and the way they were crowding around the textbook like it was holy.

Crabbe, I noticed, was indeed studying, too. He was sitting quietly and unobtrusively (for one so big) in the corner, frowning confusedly at his book.

"Has anybody explained to Crabbe that, generally, at least, you have to _open_ the textbook to read it?" I asked glibly. He didn't look up at my words, but I noticed that his frown deepened, and I felt a little guilty. With a sigh, I stood, uncurling from my chair and walked over to him. "Are you having trouble?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He frowned even _more_ and shook his head. "No." He muttered.

Not at all troubled (and in fact, perhaps a little relieved) I shrugged, slinking back over to the armchairs. When I got there, I could see that Draco had appeared. He was sitting on one of the couches, frantically scribbling on a length of parchment which was so huge that it had actually begun to trail along the floor.

"Hey." I lowered myself elegantly into the chair beside him. "whatcha doing?"

He scowled, pushing me away. "Go _away_, Estelle." He snapped. "I'm busy."

Affronted, I placed a hand on my heart. "I brought you _crumble_." I said dramatically. "You should at least say 'thank you'."

"I'll say 'thank you' if you bloody leave me alone!"

Surprised by his viciousness, I turned to Blaise, who was still sipping at his flaming hippogriff. Catching my eye, he grinned. "Old Draco here managed to muck up a perfectly simple levitation charm- broke the goblet and everything."

Draco looked up at Blaise, seething with anger. "Shut it, Zabini." He snapped. "I was doing well- it was that _idiot_ Potter."

I frowned. "Harr-Potter made you mess up?"

If Draco or Blaise noticed my faux pas, neither of them said a word. "He- he _looked_ at me funny." Draco snarled, as though in a better world, this offence would be punishable by death. I shot Blaise a look, to verify this reason. Blaise inclined his head. Oh. Wow, Draco was a baby.

"He _looked_ at you?" I asked again, and Draco hissed.

"Oh, Estelle _don't_ start!" He moaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I've had enough. And besides, it was _definitely_ Potter's fault. It hardly matters now, though. I just have to do better in Transfiguration tomorrow."

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Alright."

"Ssshhh!" Pansy hushed me from the other side of Blaise. "Shut _up_, Estelle! We're all busy!"

"You're all _crazy_." I muttered.

Pansy primped irritatingly, fluffing her hair over the little stubs of her horns. "You'll be the same next year." She told me annoyingly. "In fact, you'll be worse. _Much_ worse, and nobody will want to talk to you."

I burrowed further down into my arm chair. "I'm not going to _do_ OWLs. Not ever." Blaise raised an eyebrow, so I kindly elaborated. "Jess and I are going to drop out and start a circus."

"I'll be the tightrope walker." Jess announced, flinging herself onto my arm rest and leaning her head on mine. "Estelle can be the acrobat." As she watched, Blaise looked down at his cocktail and frowned.

And then, in a way which must've seemed very abrupt and random to Jess, who'd missed our earlier discussion, he tapped the glass with his wand, sending flames shooting into the air. "Yum." He said simply, taking a sip.

Jess had yelped in shock when he'd initially set fire to his drink, and moments later she was still sitting there, her mouth hanging open. But as I watched, her expression turned a little devious, and she let out a fake sounding laugh. "Oh, Blaise- you're so…. Eccentric. Tell me, don't you think that you and Carmeline would be a lovely couple?"

….

I didn't see the OWL students at breakfast the next day, or at lunch, but while on my way to potions, I saw the whole fifth year milling awkwardly about in the corridor.

I was planning on ignoring them, and was walking straight through, until I heard somebody bellow, "Good catch, Minerva! We'll have these feather-brained pests rounded up in no time." I couldn't help but look more closely, then- that wasn't the way the professors typically referred to their students.

"_Mon dieu_." I breathed, as Macgonnagal stormed past, clutching a flamingo under each arm. "What is happening _now_?"

I felt rather than saw Blaise arrive at my side. "One of those _Hufflepuffs_." He said, lip twisting in scorn. "She managed to transfigure her ferret into a flock of flamingos."

"_One_ ferret?" I asked, my eyes snagging on a Hufflepuff girl with a long blonde plait, sobbing disconsolately into her friend's shoulder. "She has a real talent."

As I watched her, Professor Flitwick ran past, chasing a particularly bad-tempered flamingo around the corridor. I frowned thoughtfully. "What do you think they'll do with those birds?" I asked. "Where will they put them?"

Blaise shrugged, clearly supremely unconcerned. "I managed to vanish my squirrel." He told me, quite satisfied with himself. "Mine didn't turn into a flock of anything."

I sniffed. "How utterly _dull_ of you, Blaise." I watched as Flitwick finally caught the flamingo by the leg, only to have it squawk and sprint off again, towing him along, too. "You'll just have to try harder next time." Somewhere to my left, a flamingo began to squawk loudly in panic, and I frowned. "Is it wrong, what we do to these animals?"

Blaise blinked rapidly, evidently confused. "Sorry?"

"I mean…" I ran a hand through my hair. "Suppose that ferret didn't want to be a flock of flamingos- then what?"

"I expect it _didn't_ want to be a flock of flamingos." Blaise said with a smile. "That isn't something people generally hope for or expect."

I couldn't help but laugh, letting my head fall back just slightly. When I looked back at Blaise, he was watching me, smiling just a little. Feeling warm and _very_ entertained by the flamingo incident, I smiled back. And then something else occurred to me. "How was Draco doing?"

Blaise's smile disappeared. "Not _too_ badly." He said. "I think he managed to turn his guinea pig into a tea cup. But he… he isn't doing _well_, Estelle. Something's going on with him."

I sighed. "I know, Zabini." I said softly, watching as the subject of our conversation strode across the hall, shoulders hunched and scowling horribly. "I know."

…

After Herbology on Wednesday, Draco was disconsolate. He'd managed to upend a whole punnet of little snap dragons, crushing their little petal-snouts irreparably, and his examiner had warned him not to expect his results to be too glowing.

I was as sympathetic as I could be, considering that he would bite my head off every two seconds. But the truth was, I was finding it difficult to relate. I rarely had as much trouble with school as Draco seemed to be having.

In fact, _Draco_ rarely had as much trouble with school as Draco seemed to be having. It was all rather bizarre. I had to assume that it had something to do with the family- why else would he be so defensive, so scared all the time? I worried that Lucius was up to something. I worried that Draco was involved.

But Draco didn't want my concern any more than he wanted my sympathy.

Mostly because he had developed an acute loathing for anybody who wasn't working hard during OWL week.

And I wasn't working hard.

Very few students were actually bothering with classes during the exam period. All the teachers were fairly distracted anyway, and Snape had actually gone so far as to tell my class that he'd prefer it if we were all absent. As he put it, 'I have enough things ruining my day without having to endure the farce that is attempting to teach _you _imbeciles.'

Jess, Carmeline and I therefore spent our days lounging around and complaining about the older students. They'd completely taken over the common room now, and Jess was outraged.

"There's nowhere to _snog_." She was moaning on Thursday afternoon. "_Nowhere_! They've taken all of our favourite nooks and crannies and made them into _study areas_." She glanced around at us with hollowed, desperate eyes. "It's despicable."

We were sitting down by the lake.

Now, technically, we're not allowed outside of the castle during lesson time.

_Technically_.

But we were. The weather was nice and warm, and we were sunbaking. Jess had her feet dangling in the water, and Carmeline had hitched her robes up so she could get a nice tan on her legs.

"There are lots of places to snog." I said dreamily. "If you're creative." I'd kicked my shoes and socks off ages before, and like Carmeline had my robes rolled high up my thighs.

Jess sighed, clearly exasperated, and then opened her robes at the top, fanning herself. "Have _you_ had much cause to be creative recently?" She asked, sounding innocent enough to make me suspicious.

A group of passing boys wolf-whistled hopefully at us and Jess shot them a winning smile. Carmeline blushed. I flipped them off.

Then, as they passed, we returned to normal. "I haven't snogged Blaise in a while, if _that's_ what you mean." I said honestly, hoping they wouldn't ask me to define 'a while'. When Jess had found out from Pansy about our little snogging session, she'd been in a bad mood with me for days. Now, thankfully, it had just become a sort of joke.

Little did she know…

"I didn't mean _him_." She said, loading the word 'him' with significance. This all felt oddly like déjà vu.

Smiling sweetly, I rolled onto my stomach so I could look Jess squarely in the eye. "What about you, _Cherie_?" I asked. "Did _you_ have any…boys you wanted to discuss? Somebody a little out of our social circles, per'aps?"

Jess paled, catching my meaning instantly, but unfortunately, Carmeline spoke first. "Your accent is back." She said, rolling onto her stomach as well. "You just said 'per'aps'. You only do that when you're uncomfortable."

I shrugged. "Well, the grass is prickly- I find that _very_ uncomfortable."

Carmeline was not to be put off. "No- no, really. Why…" Her eyes widened in sudden realisation. "You _do_ like somebody- who? Who is it?"

Shit.

"I do not." I laughed easily, rolling back onto my back and pulling on a pair of aviator sunglasses. "Who would I like, at this school?"

Carmeline can be quite persistent when she's in a mood, so even as I shrugged off her scrutiny, I was preparing myself for the worst. Which was why when Wilhelmina approached us, I was incredibly grateful.

"Mina!" I called happily. "Come to sunbathe?"

Wilhelmina tossed her hair. "Come to find _you_ lot. Macgonnagal missed you in Transfiguration today."

I blinked in surprise. "What? But nobody misses truant students during OWL week.

Wilhelmina shook her head so hard I thought that it might break off. "Not _normally_. But you know how the 5th years did Transfiguration yesterday?" We all nodded obediently, and I smiled, remembering a flock of flamingos. "Well, now Macgonnagal's students are finished with Transfiguration! And so she's back in full teaching mode- and she _isn't_ happy with you!"

Jess, Carmeline and I exchanged scared looks. Macgonnagal was absolutely ruthless when she was 'not happy'. "What did she say? Is she going to pass it off to Snape?" I asked quickly.

As though poor Wilhelmina had a clue. "I don't know. We said that Jess felt sick, that Carmeline was looking after Pansy, who was crying in the toilets because her exam went badly…"

"_Is_ Pansy crying in the toilet because her exam went badly?" I asked hopefully.

Again, Wilhelmina shook her head, only this time, with less speed and much more scorn. "No. And we couldn't think of an excuse for you, Estelle, so we said that nobody had seen you since dinner last night."

I smiled. "Gee. _Thanks_, Mina."

"No problem." She flashed me a genuine smile, the fool. "Now, you'd all better do those essays she set." Taking one look at our faces, Wilhelmina smiled and elaborated. "One essay on the importance of correct wand articulation when performing vanishing spells." We all nodded- easy. "And one on the merits of attending lessons versus the merits of slacking off."

There was a short silence. Jess broke it. "Um…?"

"Oh, that one is just for you girls." Wilhelmina said happily. "Due by next lesson."

"So… tomorrow?" Carmeline ventured. I don't know why Wilhelmina was so happy about that. It made me want to punch her.

"Could we skip class and say that we were exploring the merits of 'slacking off'?" I asked.

Wilhelmina began to answer me, probably with some expression of disbelief at my idiocy, when lo and behold…

"What are you girls doing out here?"

Carmeline flipped back onto her stomach. "Who are you?" she asked.

The Hufflepuff boy blushed, tugging at his robes to more clearly emphasise the prefect badge on his chest. "I'm Ernie Macmillan." He said, sounding irritatingly pompous. "A _prefect_."

"Yes, we got that." I drawled. "Can we help you with something?"

He puffed out his chest. "Yes- yes. We'll need you to go back inside the castle now." He said, with the sort of certainty that you just have to be born with. "You're not supposed to be out here, which I'm sure you already know."

"_You're_ out here." Jess pointed out, sounding bored. "What makes _you_ so special?"

Macmillan stuck his nose up a little way in the air. "I am a prefect." He told us all.

I groaned. "Yes, we _know_. Did you miss the memo that told you that, since the Inquisitorial Squad was set up, your position in the school is hollow and null?"

Now he looked offended. "Is _not_." He said. "Now, I'd truly appreciate it if you'd go back inside the castle…?"

I held his gaze for a moment, then sighed in defeat. "I'm not in the mood for a brawl." I told Jess, who nodded.

"And we _do_ have those essays to write."

Languidly, we stood up, taking extra care to flash the unfortunate prefect just enough to make him blush. Wilhelmina looked on gleefully, even hitching her own robes up a little til he turned the colour of a tomato. Satisfied with our revenge, we started back towards the castle.

But, just because my life was never meant to run smoothly, as we passed him, he clamped a hand down on my arm. "_Merde_." I swore, shocked. "What do you want now?"

He frowned at me from nut brown eyes. "You're a friend of Harry's, aren't you?"

Shit. I managed to stop myself looking nervously around me, and instead let out a low, scornful laugh. "I have _lots_ of friends." I told him with a wink. Dutifully, Carmeline and Wilhelmina tittered, but Jess (who actually _knew_) stayed silent.

"This one is Harry _Potter_." Macmillan said sternly. "I think you'd remember him."

Carefully slowly, I shook my head from side to side. "N-no. I don't. He's a Gryffindor, right?" The prefect nodded firmly, and I smirked. "Well, I don't _talk_ to Gryffindors. _Or_ Hufflepuffs. So, if that's all?"

His frown deepened. "Of course." He let go and the four of us girls ran back up to the castle.

"That was _weird_." Wilhelmina laughed as we headed down the corridors. "Why did he think you were friends with Potty Potter?"

"_Potty_ Potter?" Jess asked, and Wilhelmina waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, you know. I never really believed that Quibbler article." She sniffed. "Seemed like a lot of tosh. And Dumbledore's fairly old, isn't he?" We nodded, and she smiled primly. "Well. _Senile_." Nobody said anything, and her satisfied expression faded a little. "Don't you think? Carmeline?"

Carmeline's expression had gone from open to guarded in record time. "I don't know." She said now. "I don't want to talk about any of that stuff."

"What stuff do you mean?" Wilhelmina was nothing if not persistent.

"Oh, _that_ stuff." Carmeline snapped. "Nothing about the break-out. Nothing about death eaters, and _definitely_ nothing about You Know Who." She licked her lips nervously as she spoke.

There was a very short silence before Wilhelmina's curiosity overtook her tact.

"But _why_? I mean, it isn't like any of it is true… _My_ mother says it's all a conspiracy." She primped a little, unaware of the problems she was starting.

By the time we reached the common room, the two of them were bickering fiercely, both imploring to us to take up their cause. Jess and I ignored them, moving straight away to the chairs by the fire which seemed to be reserved for our little group. 'Slytherin Royalty', Pansy called us. More often, I went with 'Slytherin Snobs'.

Carmeline and Wilhelmina joined us temporarily, but soon, the sheer volume of their argument had attracted the attention of some stressed sixth years, who promptly ejected them from the common room.

Jess sighed, flopping back in her chair. "Phew." She breathed. "That was close. _Too_ close. Who was that prefect?"

I shrugged, wanting the conversation to end there. Luckily, in what was the third time that day, somebody entered, providing a distraction.

"That _oaf_!"

"Hey, Draco." I said, pulling out some parchment and scrawling the essay question across the top of it.

Not returning my greeting, he snarled and threw a cushion across the room. "Oaf." He muttered, sinking into one of the armchairs with Pansy hanging like a limpet from his arm.

I ignored him, writing out my introduction.

'_For years, mankind has wrestled with one dilemma above all others: the choice between what is good, and what is 'fun'. This essay will discuss, through the exploration of the traditional 'skiving classes' example, the eternal war between our ethics and our impulses. Is fun more useful than duty? Which is more necessary and more indulged in today's society? Which makes us _human_? After exploring these, the essay will attempt to reach a conclusion and decide once and for all- should we skip class, or not skip class?'_

I smiled, satisfied. "Hah." I said simply, then continued.

_We cannot discuss this topic without having first defined it_. God, I was good at crapping on. _This necessitates beginning with…._

"That oaf!" Draco snarled again while Pansy stroked 'comfortingly' at his arm. "That _oaf_- he's sabotaged my exam!"

I sighed, looking up from my essay. "What did Potter do now?" I asked easily.

Draco's face turned an odd shade of pink. "Not _that_ oaf." He said angrily. "That _giant_ oaf- 'Professor' Hagrid- what a joke!" I waited, closing my textbook, folding my hands on my lap and preparing to listen closely. Draco did not disappoint. "He's taught me _nothing _of use this year, or any year, and now I've failed that pointless exam!" Pansy cooed sympathetically, hanging like a limpet to his shoulder, but Draco, clearly even angrier than he'd seemed, hissed and shrugged her off.

I didn't bother arguing with him. Instead, I smiled sympathetically and patted his knee. "Don't worry." I said, and then, showing deep intuitive skills; "Lucius won't have imagined you'd be able to do well in that subject. You know how he feels about the importance of good-quality teachers in the learning experience." Draco didn't look up, but he nodded slowly. Relieved, I ruffled his hair a little. "What do you have tomorrow?"

Before he could answer, Blaise appeared, dropping gracelessly into the seat beside me. Clearly, he was exhausted if his elegance wasn't evident. "What _don't_ we have tomorrow?" he groaned. "I have my Astronomy paper, and then my Arithmancy paper, and after that, the Astronomy practical."

I blinked. "Your life truly is a trial." I turned to Draco. "Drake?"

He nodded. "I don't do Astronomy." He sniffed. "I just have Arithmancy in the afternoon."

I smiled warmly. "Well that's good. You'll have all morning to rest and study." Looking mildly placated, Draco nodded, smoothing his hair back carefully. Satisfied that he was calmer, I smiled again. "Alright, well, I'm going to keep doing my essay…."

As I made to set my quill back down to the parchment, Blaise ripped my essay away from me.

Scanning it briefly (ignoring me as I tapped my foot impatiently) he frowned. "What, are you studying philosophy or something? Which subject is this for?"

I quirked an eyebrow in challenge. "Transfiguration." He looked even more confused, so I elaborated. "It's an essay Macgonnagal assigned us because we cut class."

Making a disgusted face, he threw the essay back to me, just as Carmeline strode back into the room, huffing angrily. "Oohhh." She muttered. "Oh, I can't _believe_ that little bitch."

I smiled up at her. "You didn't punch her, did you?"

Carmeline rolled her eyes and sank into a chair. "That sixth year _cursed_ us, made it so we couldn't come into the common room until we made up."

Jess smiled. "So you made up?"

"_Merlin_, no! God, no we just waited for the spell to wear off." She snorted. "He's only a sixth year- not _that_ talented."

I shrugged. Whatever, so long as they'd shut up about it. "It was a stupid fight, anyway."

Carmeline shook her head. "No, you're not allowed to say that- not when it was _your_ fault!"

I blinked. "_My_ fault?"

She nodded, taking a sip of the coffee that Draco had dumped on the table. "Yeah. The whole thing started when that Hufflepuff said that you were friends with Potter….."

Draco glanced up. Blaise glanced up. I laughed dismissively, ignoring them. "Isn't that the Hufflepuff's fault then? For being delusional?" There was a very tangible silence from Draco and Blaise. I hissed, turning to face them. "I'm not friends with Potter." I said.

But Draco's eyes had already narrowed to slits. "I don't believe you." He said coolly. "Estelle, this year there have been _too_ many rumours! Too many people saying that you're friends with that-that _imbecilic_ halfbreed!"

This was going to be big, I could tell. The stress of the exams had put a half-manic light in Draco's eyes, and it seemed that his insanity had zeroed in on me.

"Rumours, Draco." I insisted again. "Why listen to them over me?"

"Because there have been _so many!_" Draco half shouted. A silence fell over the rest of the common room, as everybody turned to us. Oblivious to our spectators, Draco smoothed down his hair fanatically, breathing deeply. "_So _many. And you're never around! And to top that off, you have a family history of blood traitor tendencies."

He really shouldn't have brought my mother into this. "What did you say?"

He leaned in close. "I _said_." He began icily. "That your mother was a _blood traitor_- so why wouldn't you be?"

"My mother followed her _conscience_." I snapped at him. "Not what her parents told her was right, and that shows strength." I paused. "And you know what? None of that has anything to do with _this_."

"It does!" Draco shouted. "I _know_ people from your mother's family, I _know_ why she abandoned them- for a boy! And now _you'll_ do the same, and for who? _Potter_." He snarled the last bit, and Pansy tittered like a child.

I almost slapped her. "For the last time." I said through gritted teeth. "I'm not _friends _with…"

"Well, I believe her." Shocked, I turned around to face my champion. Blaise was lounging casually in one of the armchairs, spinning an empty coffee cup around his wand. Under the group's considerable scrutiny, he showed no emotion at all, merely shrugged, then continued. "She has better taste than _that_." He elaborated. "Besides- I think she would choose a man more like herself." He met my eyes, holding my gaze for a moment before looking away. I didn't know what he was up to, after all, he'd seen me talking to Harry first hand, and more than once, but I wasn't about to complain, and he seemed fully confident in his own argument. I pushed the image of his anger at me using him to make Harry jealous from my mind- maybe I'd misunderstood. Maybe he'd just been in a bad mood? "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Draco."

Draco held Blaise's gaze for a moment, then nodded, tight lipped, and returned to his study without another word to me.

Still confused about Blaise, and angry about the slur against my mother, I snatched up my things, hissing. "You wouldn't believe that when _I_ said it.  
>I snapped, striding angrily from the common room.<p>

Blaise caught up with me just moments later. To his credit, he didn't try to talk, just walked alongside me for a few minutes.

Eventually, he sighed and said. "I appreciate your dramatic tendencies, but just for my _own_ peace of mind, how far _are_ you planning to walk before this counts as an acceptable 'storm-out'?"

"Fuck off, Blaise." I snapped. "I'm sick of your attempts at wit."

"_Attempts_?" He repeated glibly. "I'm offended." I scoffed and kept walking, but I hadn't gotten far before he'd caught up to me, firmly grabbing my arm.

I was going to swear at him in French until he let go, but when I met his eyes, he looked so serious that I just couldn't. Instead, I relaxed and waited. I knew eventually he'd tell me why he was- once again- attacking me in a hallway. "You know." He said. "I want what I told Draco to be true." I reflected- he was talking about Harry, assumedly.

I sighed, pulling my arm free. "I appreciate your help, but stay out of it, Blaise. I doesn't really involve..."

He didn't let me finish. "I think we need to talk." Blaise cut me off, and I could tell that it was an effort for him to force those words out. "About… things."

I blinked. "Yes… those _things_. So topical at the moment."

"Don't act like this is a joke, Estelle." He snarled suddenly. "You _know_ what I mean."

I bowed my head a little. "Yeah, I think so."

Draco had been so odd lately- as his best friend, of _course_ Blaise would want to discuss it. No matter how uncomfortable that made me.

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I haven't really done this before." He told me with a sniff. "You know, _considered_ this sort of thing. With anyone." He looked away. "It seems _ridiculous_ to even set it out, really. And I hope you know that I'm really doing _you_ a favour."

It surely wasn't _that_ big of a deal, was it? "Well, when the situation calls for it." I shrugged. "Personally, I don't like discussing personal things like this myself, let alone about _other_ people."

Blaise blinked, looking a little taken aback. "Other people…? Must you always be so _confusing?_" And then he shook his head. "No, of course. Neither of us really go for all that mushy, 'sharing' stuff. Neither of us would ever try to get... 'close'... to each other. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the very idea. I nodded, willing myself to pretend that what he'd said made sense. "Every other time I've tried something like this, it's been with people that I honestly can't stand. Mother told me to wait to find somebody who didn't bore me, and you _don't_. But that doesn't mean that I want anything serious. There's no plan for the future here at all, no… guarantee." He met my gaze, his eyes blackest black and unreadable. "Do you know what I mean?"

I had no idea what he meant.

Not wanting to sound stupid, I nodded sagely. "Well, sometimes you have to wait for the right time, don't you?"

"Right time." He rolled his eyes. "Could you possibly oversimplify this with a more pathetic cliche?"

I forgot that I was completely lost in the conversation- that tone meant war. "Could _you_ possibly complicate that sentence with more ridiculous words?" I demanded.

To my surprise, rather than snap back, Blaise rolled his eyes again and said. "Fine! _Sorry_!" It was more aggressive than apologetic, but it was, technically an apology. "Alright- if I must.I suppose we have to make allowances considering that English isn't your first language." Despite having said that, he glared at me, as though my French heritage was something I'd rustled up specifically to annoy him. But still, he continued. "Fine... 'Right time'. I'll go one further, as a gesture of good will- 'right person'." I blinked, and he frowned. "Not like _that_, not as in 'the one'. Just as in… a person who is alright, who you… like?" He frowned. "Actually, not _like_ so much as tolerate. Yes, _tolerate_." He glanced back up at me. "Not that I'm saying anything definite. 'Right people' change, you know. Nothing's set in stone- we just need to have fun, whatever our future obligations." He was rambling _so_ badly. And none of it was making any sense. "Nothing's _final_." He repeated.

"Of _course_ not." I ventured. Clearly, we weren't talking about Draco's strange moods anymore. What we _were_ talking about was slightly unclear to me. But Blaise was waiting. I nodded slowly. "Well, you know…" I sighed. "Zabini, what are we talking about?"

His eyes darkened even more. "What?"

I shrugged, folding my arms. "What are we talking about? I thought it was Draco- I thought you wanted to discuss Draco's tetchiness of late."

"I thought we were talking about… something different." Blaise answered carefully. But then his eyes shifted again. "It doesn't matter- I still need to talk to you. And I think _you_ need to talk to me, as well." He sighed. "Not _here_, Merlin, do you have _any_ capacity to be subtle?" I f lushed a little, slightly annoyed- I'd just been about to suggest here was as good a place as any. "Perhaps…" He frowned. "I have an exam tomorrow night, at 11."

I nodded. "I remember." I said dismissively. "Astronomy. Stupid subject."

Blaise frowned. "Quite. In any case, it finishes by 12:30."

I scoffed. "Pathetic excuse for an exam." I said dismissively. "There's barely any point in turning up."

"Your scorn is _so_ refreshing." Blaise said, deadpan. "So- meet me at the tower stairs? Perhaps at…."

"12:30. On the dot." I told him straight away. "I'm not staying up any later."

"Do you have to be so brusque?" He snapped, and I smiled sweetly at him. He sniffed. "Fine. On the dot."

"And we won't be talking too long." I said. "I don't want another late night."

"You-" Blaise looked momentarily like he was going to punch something, but managed to rein himself in. "Alright. _Fine_. Not long." He frowned sharply and kicked at the wall.

I beamed at him. "Then it's settled." I said happily. "We'll be meeting on the stairs and 12: 30 _precisely_, for a _brief_ talk about _things_."

He rolled his eyes. "You _infuriate_ me." He said blandly. We held each other's gaze for a while longer, and I was waiting for the challenge, for the moment where we'd start fighting, and then start snogging. But it didn't come. Instead, he just sighed, looked away and said. "You'd better be there. We _do_ need to talk, and I'm sick of having to act like the adult in this… situation."

That seemed unfair.

"That seems unfair!" I snapped. Well, there is no point in keeping your concerns hidden.

But Blaise just scowled at me and then strode back into the dorm room, leaving me to ponder the complete cock up our conversation had been.

…..

So, as you might've guessed, when 12:30 rocked up, I was leaning against the wall of the stairwell to the Astronomy tower, admiring the clear night and fouling the air with a cigarette.

Perhaps, had I been a little later, things would've gone differently. If I'd been a little later, I wouldn't have noticed anything.

But I'd come early, curious about what Blaise wanted, and despite myself sort of hoping that it would turn into some sort of snogging session.

And that's why, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flashes of red. Leaning out the window til my entire torso was dangling out over the grounds, I looked around for the source, only to see that it was coming from the Gamekeeper's hut. It was too far for me to see with my bare eyes, no matter how hard I squinted into the dark, I couldn't make out a thing beyond those few flashes of red and the lights from the hut.

I wondered absently if this wasn't part of some exam, or some update of the security measures around the school, but a part of me knew better. I'd recognised those red flashes- stunning spells. Frowning, I leant further out again, my feet lifting off the floor, frustrated by the darkness that was preventing me from seeing.

But sound carries well across the Hogwarts grounds, so I heard Professor Hagrid shouting at whoever had shot the curses, and I heard the fifth years above me start to panic.

And after that, I heard the silence. Not the calm silence the night normally brings, but a tense silence, broken only by the faintest whispers from across the grounds.

At 12:30 on the dot, the fifth years came down the stairs in droves, shouting and crying about whatever had happened that I hadn't been able to make out. I knew then that, whatever they were meant to have been doing, the fifth years had spent the last part of their exam with their telescopes trained on the Gamekeeper's hut.

"She might _die_." A girl cried to her friends as they passed by me. "Did you see? She might _die_."

"And he _won't_ be coming back." Somebody else said. "Good riddance, too."

Flabbergasted and annoyed (I hate being out of the loop) I looked around, desperate for a familiar face. And of course, the first one I saw had green-eyes, glasses and the messiest hair you'd ever seen.

Harry was striding past, and I seized my chance as he was momentarily separated from his friends in the crowds.

"What happened? What's going on?" I grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him into the little alcove I'd been smoking in, just slightly out of sight of the rest of the students. "Potter- _Harry_!" He met my gaze, looking shocked. "What's going on?" I repeated quietly.

Some people might've taken the time to ask exactly what I was doing there, in the middle of the night. But not Harry.

He frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose a little. "It's Umbridge." He said softly, but with his voice full of anger. "She- she tried to take Hagrid out, but Macgonnagal came out to stop her…. She was hit. By four stunning spells. Straight in the chest."

Most of what he said was completely incomprehensible, but I understood the last part just fine. My mouth fell open. "What? Who by?"

He made to answer me, but at that moment, Bushy Hair called out, "Harry?" and the crowd parted a little to reveal her standing with Weasley over the other side of the stairwell.

We looked each other in the eye. "I- I should go." He said awkwardly, and I nodded. "They're waiting on me, I just." He smacked his hand against the wall beside my head. "I can't _believe _what happened- any of it!" I hadn't flinched, even as his hand collided with the wall right next to me, and I realised with a sinking feeling that that was just _another_ show of just how much I trusted him. He was still looking at me, frowning distractedly as though he wasn't even seeing anything. "I should go." He said again. But then his eyes travelled down to my lips.

It was odd- I don't think either of us felt like we were moving, or even felt like the other was moving, but very suddenly we seemed to be just inches away from each other, our lips just grazing….

"Get off, Potter!" Somebody snapped, barrelling into Harry.

I jumped, and suddenly, we were broken out of the weird trance that we'd been caught in. "Rude." I muttered. And then, "Oh. Blaise…"

And without looking back at Harry, I ran after him, feeling awful for not having met him straight away.

"Blaise?" I called, but he didn't stop walking. With a sigh, I began to jog after him, pushing past some fifth year Hufflepuffs. "Hey!" Still he didn't stop, but I was beginning to catch up to him. "Wait- _Blaise_." I grabbed his arm, but he pulled it away, snarling. "Hey, don't be so rude- _you_ wanted to talk to _me_."

"I don't anymore." He snapped. "Fuck off."

Frowning, I shoved him against the wall. "You should've thought about that _before_ you asked to meet me here. What is it you want from me?"

Blaise's smile was small and malicious. "Right now? Nothing."

I looked up at him, confused. "I really don't understand." I said honestly, still reeling from Harry's news about old Macgonnagal.

And just like that, the strange fury, so unlike Blaise's normal demeanour, disappeared, and he was cool and detached once more. "No, well. I wouldn't expect you to." He said, as though whatever was going on was _far_ out of my intellectual capacity.

I frowned, hugging my arms around myself. This was all oddly surreal, but now that Blaise seemed to be back to his old self, I felt a little better. "Are you upset because of Potter?" I asked, feeling it was best to just get to the point. "Because, I never actually thought…"

"Why would I be upset by that?" He asked loftily. "Merlin, Dahlquist. You _do_ think highly of yourself, don't you?" Then he looked away. "Admittedly, I _do_ suggest you wash your mouth out with something strong. You don't really know where he's been."

Pleased by how unaffected Blaise seemed by the whole thing, I grinned. "Are we talking about the same person?" I laughed. "I don't think he's ever _been_ anywhere." Blaise didn't laugh, but then, he rarely did. What _was_ odd was that he didn't say anything back, just kept looking down his nose at me. "We- we haven't _done_ anything." I said quickly.

"As though I would care." Blaise waved a hand he still wouldn't meet my eyes. After scrutinising him for a little, frowning at his strong, emotionless profile, I decided that I'd been reading too much into things. He'd just been stressed from his exam, and seeing me with Potter when I had arrangements with _him_ had annoyed him. Of course it wasn't anything romantic! We'd snogged, yes, but Blaise snogged lots of people- I was hardly special, except that he couldn't sleep with me because he was best friends with my cousin.

I nodded, relighting my cigarette and leaning against the wall. With a roll of his eyes, Blaise followed my lead, moving to stand just a metre or so away from me. I took a long drag, then passed him my cigarette.

"You didn't want to talk about Draco, did you?" I asked nonchalantly.

Blaise blew a casual smoke ring into the air in front of us, and then passed the cigarette back to me. There was a pause, and then he said. "Yes, I _did_. That was all I wanted to talk about."

But he didn't say anything else.

I took another drag, automatically passing it back across, and we continued that way for a little while, just sharing the cigarette til it was nothing more than a little stub of embers. But the silence wasn't quite companionable. Blaise was thinking about something, and I wasn't quite sure what.

When there was just one drag's worth of cigarette left, I held out my hand for it, but instead of passing it back, Blaise threw it onto the floor, grinding it viciously with his heel, glaring at the wall opposite him the whole time. I didn't complain.

And then, we walked back to the dorms in silence. That bothered me more than anything, really, because neither Blaise nor I were the sort of people who did well with silence. I wasn't sure why we weren't bickering or snapping or at _least_ being witty.

But we weren't.

And before I had worked up the courage to ask _why_, we were at the dorms, and it was finished.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Well, I am so sorry for how long this has taken! I was without a computer for ages, so I didn't have a lot of time to churn this one out, but I'm fairly sure the next instalment will be up very soon (and that's the big one)

Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed! So that would be **Agent of Fire**, **Catching Rayne**(love your enthusiasm!), **BlackCatFullMoon**, **Ali** and **andiescandieee**. You guys keep me motivated.

And to **Ali** and **The Agent of Fire**, I completely understand what you're saying. It's getting harder and harder to picture Harry not being with Estelle, mostly because I think she needs somebody nice to moderate her. We shall see.  
>I didn't originally intend on putting any HarryEstelle in _this_ chapter, but I couldn't help it. They need to have a little something before everything falls apart, even just the briefest of kisses. Rest assured, I'm keeping my options open where they're concerned.

Anyway, thanks to everybody! And after a long wait, next chapter will be the battle at the Ministry. I'll try not to disappoint. Stay tuned, and if you have any special requests, let me know and I'll try and fit them in.

xxx 


	16. Chapter 16

When I woke up the next morning, it was nearly lunch time, and I knew that the only thing which would prevent me having a full month's worth of detentions was that we were almost finished the year and there _just wasn't time_.

I groaned, rubbing blearily at my eyes, and that was when I noticed the note scrawled onto my arm in runny blue ink.

'_Let you sleep, because you punched me in the face. Don't forget: Transfiguration today- essays due.'_

"Carmeline!" I shouted uselessly. "You're _mean_." I glanced out the window, trying to gauge just what time it was. Mid-afternoon, I thought. "Shit." If we were past lunch, then that meant…. "I'm meant to be in Umbridge's class _now_."

It was lucky (if grotty) that I'd fallen asleep in my uniform. I patted myself up and down just once, trying to make sure that I wasn't missing any vital pieces of clothing, and when satisfied, performed a quick cleansing spell.

It would have been the epitome of efficiency, were it not for the fact that I had never quite mastered the _drying_ half of the incantation. Cursing in rapid French, and dripping wet, I practically fell down the stairs, shooting a vague summoning charm behind me for my books. The common room was empty, of _course_. Everybody who wasn't an idiot was already in class. I could already see Umbitch's toady face grinning gleefully in triumph- I was going to turn up sopping wet and ten minutes late, at this rate.

As I ran up out of the dungeons, I twisted my hair in a futile attempt to wring any excess water from it. I was a mess. My eye makeup from yesterday was smudged terribly under my eyes, my hair was rapidly shaping itself into a bird's nest of epic proportions, and where was my tie?

Ah. I was wearing my tie as a belt. Clever. And perhaps _not_ regulation.

With a hiss of annoyance, I started to pick at the knot I'd tied it in, acutely aware of the puddle of water forming at my feet. I looked like a drowned rat. At least, I reasoned, I had slipped into one of the outdoor courtyards quite close to my classroom. It was as good a place as any to stop for a moment.

"Hello, Estelle." I heard somebody say dreamily. When I turned around, Luna Lovegood was sitting behind me, swinging her feet and staring happily at the clouds.

"Oh, hi Luna." I said, smiling quickly, then swearing as my nail broke without having made the slightest difference to the impossible knot in my tie. "Haven't seen you much this year."

She nodded. "Oh, I've been around." She said, sounding almost solemn. "I saw _you_."

I nodded absently. I was still concentrating on my tie. "Yes." I offered, hoping it was an appropriate thing to say. "Yes, naturally." _Finally_. The tie gave a little, and with a whoop of triumph, I pulled it out, "uh, yeah. I've been reading the _Quibbler_, with you in mind."

She smiled sagely. "Yes. Daddy says it is selling quite well, lately. I suppose you're going to class?"

Reluctantly, I looked at the door to the Defence classroom. "Yeah, that's the idea."

"I do that, too."

I turned back to her, ready for some Luna quirkiness. "Go to class?"

She shook her head. "_No_. Bathe with my clothes on. It seems more economical." I decided not to explain the actual story, which was lucky considering that she hadn't quite finished. "And I don't use drying spells, either. They're too risky. Daddy printed an article two years ago about a ministry official who used a drying spell- it fried his intestines and he cooked from the inside out."

I forced myself not to laugh, instead nodding glibly. "It _can_ be a risk." I agreed. "Aren't _you_ going to class?"

Luna smiled. "Oh, in a minute. That tree over there looks particularly lovely right now. I don't want to miss it."

I cast a brief glance behind me at the little sapling she was staring at. "it'll still be here after class, you know." I told her. "Getting on Umbridge's bad side isn't a good idea."

She shook her head again. "No, I think I'll stay here." And she turned her huge, faded blue eyes on me. "We miss too many _small_ moments, I think. Sometimes those ones are the best ones."

That sounded pretty. I smiled at her. "I like your style, Luna." I told her. But then I rubbed at the faint scar lines on my hand, only now fading, and sighed. "But if I don't get to class, Umbridge will make sure I don't have _any_ moments of life left- large or small."

She waved me on with an understanding smile, humming something cheerful and discordant under her breath.

As I ran into the classroom, Jess let out a low wolf-whistle. "Hey, pretty lady." She drawled. "Looking good."

"Fuck off." I snapped at her, patting self-consciously at my hair. It was verging on dry now, but it still hung in limp wet tendrils around my face.

"Oi, Dahlquist!" I heard Marcus call from behind me. "Is it raining?"

I wanted to die. "Only on my parade." I muttered to myself, pulling a chair out and sitting down beside Jess. She turned to me with a sympathetic expression on her face and a tissue in her hand.

"Sit still." She told me, leaning in menacingly, the tissue squished up into a ball and aimed at my face. "We'll make you beautiful in no time."

"Already looking good, Dahlquist." Marcus interjected helpfully from behind us. "That uniform is clinging to you in a _very_ flattering way. Really."

I tried not to slap him. "Thank you, Marcus." I said as sweetly as I could. "I hope you're not looking at my breasts right now." He shrugged noncommittally, and I smiled again. "I _automatically _hex people who look at my breasts."

He froze, looking scared, then his face suddenly relaxed. "No, you _don't_." He told me, with a happy air of certainty. "I know for sure, because otherwise I'd have been cursed by now."

Wow. Jess raised an eyebrow, momentarily taking a break from aggressively dabbing at my face with that damn tissue. "Marcus." She said slowly, and he gave her a happy grin in response. "Do you realise that you just admitted to staring at Estelle's boobs?"

He shrugged. "I'm a boy." He said simply, by way of explanation. "Anyway, her boobs aren't _really_ cursed."

"How would _you_ know?" Jess snapped. "Maybe it's a subtle curse."

Looking wary, Marcus glanced at me. "_Is_ it a subtle curse?" He asked cautiously.

I shot him my warmest smile. "Oh, Marcus." I laughed gently, leaning forwards and looking up at him from underneath my eyelashes. "I don't suppose you've noticed any differences… down _there_… lately?"

Marcus blinked. "Differences?" He asked. I nodded, and he frowned. "With my penis?" Jess rolled her eyes, clearly blown away by his amazing charm and subtlety. Suddenly, a bright smile lit up his face. "Does looking at your boobs make it _bigger_? Because that would be an incentive…"

"Sort of." I said. "Only, replace the word 'bigger' with the word 'smaller'." Jess grinned gleefully, but Marcus, despite a moment of sheer terror, seemed to have seen through us.

He gave us a sly, calculating look. "You just made that up."

I shrugged. "Well, if you say so."

He considered for a moment, and then grinned broadly. "Well, you know what, Estelle? I've always been a risktaker." And then, slowly and with an air of defiance, he gave my breasts a long ogle. Tedious. I sighed, waiting, and Jess rolled her eyes. Finally, Marcus looked up at me. "And _that_ is how a man does it." He told me.

"Won't be a man for much longer, if that spell of Estelle's kicks in." Carmeline contributed sweetly, dumping her stuff beside Jess. She'd been gossiping with Wilhelmina and Kasey for the past ten minutes. As Marcus withdrew, muttering, she shot me a sweet smile. "Hey. Glad to see that you made it!"

I sniffed, "Not talking to you." I said stroppily, sitting up as straight as possible.

Jess gave a little protesting whinge, grabbing my hair and yanking me back towards her. "I'm _trying_ to fishtail braid." She snapped.

Carmeline raised an eyebrow. "Not talking to me?" she asked.

"No." I told her forcefully. And then, after perhaps 30 seconds, I broke down. "I thought we'd gotten over that stupid fight." I hissed, and Carmeline's eyebrows soared up into her hairline.

"Of course we have."

"There." Jess interrupted, flinging the long rope she'd braided my hair into over my shoulder. "Done. I'm bored now."

"So then, explain why you didn't wake me, again?" I snapped. She said nothing, so I held up my arm, displaying the now seriously runny and illegible scribble. "Because I punched you? That was _centuries_ ago."

"Exaggeration." Jess chimed in, flicking through her textbook with an expression of complete indifference.

I humphed. "Fine. _Months_."

"_A_ month. Singular."

"Shut it, Jess."

Carmeline looked confused for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Estelle." I waited for her explanation. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "You punched me in the face when I tried to wake you up. This _morning_."

Oh. That was _different_, then. "In my sleep?"

She nodded. "In your sleep."

There was a brief silence, and then I just _had_ to ask. "Was it a good one?"

"Sorry?"

I leaned forwards. "A good one- a good _punch_."

Jess looked up from her textbook. "Estelle, you are seriously weird." She said, without any inflection or emotion whatsoever.

Carmeline, however, understood, and nodded encouragingly. "It was a great punch! I might even get a bruise. Right here." She pointed to her cheekbone, still smiling warmly.

Thoroughly satisfied, I leant back in my seat. "Good." I said, and then gave her a conciliatory smile. "Anyway, it isn't like I was late in the end."

"You were." Jess told me, filing her nails. "Class started fifteen minutes ago."

And yet there was no sickly pink, floral scented toad anywhere in sight.

Umbridge? _Late_? I couldn't keep the glee from my face.

Anticipating my question, Carmeline rolled her eyes and said. "Nah, she's probably not dead. My guess is that Peeves has done something. Peeves is _always_ doing something."

I grinned happily. "Don't care where she is or what she's doing there." I sang happily. "I'm just glad that she isn't _here_."

Jess shrugged. "Oh, she'll be here. She'd _never_ miss the chance to torture us."

That was a less happy thought.

"Well." I said, after a moment's deliberation. "That's only more incentive to have fun now, in the little time that is left to us."

"Here, here." Jess said, perhaps too loudly. Across the room, some Ravenclaws looked up from their quiet chatting to shoot her evil glares. Jess poked out her tongue unabashedly in response.

"Don't bully the Ravenclaws, Jess." Carmeline chastised firmly.

Jess was unimpressed. In fact, she seemed to be in an awful mood. "_You_ like them so much? Here, go play with them." And then, flicking her wand, she sent Carmeline's textbook flying across the room, til it hit the shoulder of a Ravenclaw boy with a perceptible 'crunch' sound.

It would have been funny, if Jess hadn't made one little error.

"Why would I go over there and get Estelle's textbook?" Carmeline asked pointedly, tapping her fingers on the cover of her own textbook, which was still resting happily on the table.

My eyes narrowed, and I turned to face Jess venomously. "You…" I began, but then somebody interrupted.

"Oi- which one of you threw this?" Somebody called. Clearly, it was one of the more boisterous Ravenclaws- usually, they wouldn't even say 'boo'. Obviously my run of stellar luck was continuing, because when I cast my eyes over to their table, it was that Corner boy, the Weaslette's boyfriend. He caught my eye and sighed. "Did _you_ throw this?"

I scooted my chair backwards, standing with as much dignity as I could muster. "No." I said honestly. "But it _is_ mine."

It was a tense moment, and the whole room knew it. Nobody was very friendly with the Slytherins at the moment, and my whole house was aware of that fact. So, the second Raveclaw/Slytherin contact had been established, they were on alert, ready to duel.

I had already spoken. It was up to Corner.

He glanced down at the book leisurely, as though oblivious to the scrutiny, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. "Quite a good caricature." He told me with a curt nod. "Although I think you could've captured her nose a little better."

The random boy next to Corner, frowned, leaning over to see, and then grinned. "Hah." He said. "Fudge and Umbridge."

Oh. It must have been that ink drawing I'd done of Umbridge and the Minister of Magic. I sniffed, mustering my pride, and nodded. "Well, everybody's a critic." I said loftily, walking over to get the book. Corner and his friend just watching me impassively, waiting til I was quite close until he held out the book to me. I reached for it…

"_Hem hem_." E gads. I froze in horror, unwilling even to turn around. In front of me, Corner's friend looked pale as a sheet, but Corner himself was glowering sullenly. How could this have happened? Of all the moments for her to walk in. Perhaps, I reasoned, if I didn't move, she wouldn't notice me. "Miss Dahlquist." Or maybe not. I turned around, smiling brightly. The Umbitch was smiling her self-satisfied little smile, probably basking in the waves of fear which were radiating off the lot of us. "How kind of you to decide to join us."

I grinned. "I was about to say the exact same thing to you, professor." I said, casually reminding her of how late she was.

Her smile hardened. "Ten points from Slytherin." She barked, but an instant later, her sickly sweet expression was back. "Now, perhaps you could enlighten the class as to why you are making puddles on the floor."

What sort of a question was that? "It's because I'm all wet, professor." I drawled, pointing to my sopping uniform. "And the _water_ makes puddles."

She cocked her head to the side, the little black velvet bow on her head bouncing happily as she did so. "And why, Miss Dahlquist, didn't you use a drying spell?"

I was tempted, _so_ tempted, to tell her about Luna's Ministry official and his fried intestines, but in the end, I decided against it.

Not out of any sort of desire to be good, but simply because I thought of something more pertinent. "Oh." I gave a forlorn little shrug. "Well, I completely get the _theory_ behind drying spells, but without having been taught them." Again, I shrugged. "It just doesn't work in _practice_. Funny, that."

For some reason, Umbitch didn't seem to think it was all that funny. "_Oh dear_." She said, in that sickly sweet voice which meant certain death. "Miss Dahlquist, I feel that you're being a little _flippant_."

"Really?" I asked, mimicking her tone. And then, under my breath I muttered "And here I was, aiming for out-and-out disrespectful."

"Est_elle_." Jess hissed. Taking the hint, I nodded at her, lowering my gaze a little and heading back to my seat.

Umbridge watched all of this, a small, cruel smile on her ugly face. "I think that you might need a _lit_-tle more time to reflect on your manners, Miss Dahlquist." She said with a brisk little nod. "Yes. Perhaps tonight?"

She'd phrased that as a question. What, did she want an RSVP or something? Were we _meant_ to RSVP to detentions? Was that part of the 'manners' lesson I was going to be receiving?

"I can do tonight." I said, putting on my best polite voice. "What time, perhaps around seven?"

"Oh _no_." Umbitch tutted, shaking her head. "No, no _no_. _You_ don't get to choose when or where your detentions are." Oh, darn. And I was just trying to be helpful. Clearly, she didn't see it that way. "No. In fact, I think that the best time would be _right_ after lessons today. Perhaps at four, right here."

Perhaps? Again with the questions. "Perhaps," I answered vaguely, Jess kicked me under the table- hard. Clearing my throat, I met her eyes evenly, trying to look demure.

I don't feel I pulled it off particularly well, but Umbridge seemed satisfied nonetheless. She smiled smugly at me, looking like a proud frog, and then she shuffled off.

….

The time for my detention approached rather more rapidly than I'd anticipated.

I suppose that, seeing as Defence was our second to last class on Thursday, I should really have expected it. All we had left was Transfiguration, which was perhaps not the luckiest timing, seeing as I hadn't gone quite as far on those essays as I'd planned to. In a less optimistic world, that translated to: I'd planned the essay on wand articulation, and I'd written about half of the essay on turning up to class.

But demonstrating a solid initiative wasn't quite enough in Macgonnagal's books, which the idiot who was relieving her class clearly was aware of, and straight away I was slapped with a detention for seven o'clock, which sort of worked out to about four hours of detention. It was going to be a fun night, I was sure of it.

I sort of sauntered up to detention with Umbridge at four, crossing paths with Blaise in the hallway.

I poked out my tongue as I passed him, but he just looked at me coldly and nodded. Not the slightest hint of a charming comment or even the snarkiness that was our own special form of affection. The fact that as I approached, he immediately draped an arm around some surprised looking Slytherin fifth year didn't bother me (much), but it _did_ surprise me a little, just because he wasn't usually one to take the initiative.

Usually he made the girls chase him.

He claimed it was because the idea of men courting women was the product of a bygone age, and counter-productive to feminism.

It wasn't, really. Really, it's because he's lazy and conceited.

Either way, whether or not his actions were uncharacteristic wasn't something really relevant at that point.

More important was getting to detention and not getting shot by Umbitch.

As I raced (with a practised air of detachment _very_ out of place with the speed I was moving at) I barrelled straight into Filch. Clearly, he'd just come out of a meeting with Umbridge, because he had that same look of repulsion and admiration that he always wore around her.

"Stupid student." He snarled at me, hissing. I stepped back, putting my hands up to demonstrate just how 'not-to-blame' I was. But rather than attack me, which would have been annoying but reassuringly _normal_, Filch just shuffled off, looking thoroughly dissatisfied and muttering about 'That bloody Poltergeist', the Astronomy Tower and the fact that Umbridge was 'too busy' to help.

I flung myself into the classroom, just as the clock struck 4:01.

"Late." Umbridge was sitting at her desk, hands clasped on the table in front of her, her short, stubby legs swinging a couple of inches off the floor. She looked in no way like she'd just had a disagreement with the school's least-favourite caretaker. Instead, she looked as smug as smug can be.

Her shoes were the first thing I noticed- I am, after all, female. And these were bright pink little numbers, with a Mary-Jane buckle and a frill across the top. They looked like the sort of shoes Glinda the Good Witch would wear when she hit her midlife crisis and became addicted to acid.

"Your clock is fast." I suggested, dumping my bag on the floor and sitting myself down in one of the chairs furthest from Umbridge. "What lines am I doing today?"

She cocked her head to one side. "_Well_. No lines from _that_ far away, no, no _no_." She said nothing else, and so with a sigh I hefted my bag back over my shoulder and dragged myself to the next row forward. She tutted. "Closer _again,_ Miss Dahlquist." She chirped. "And _again_."

Eventually, I was sitting not three metres away from her. Furious, I looked up and met her eyes, cocking an eyebrow enquiringly. She nodded primly. "Yes. I think that will do quite well."

Of course it would. As I watched, she flicked her wand, and her favourite quill appeared on the desk in front of me. As was tradition in our detentions, I immediately looked up at her, doe eyed, and sweetly asked. "But _Professor_, where is the parchment?"

You could practically see the smoke rising off her head. Oh, how I'd missed _this_ part of our detentions!

She was just about to answer when suddenly the door flung open and Weasley powered inside, long limbs flying everywhere. "Professor!" He called dramatically, "Professor!"

I couldn't help but smile as he waved his arms about like a lunatic. Clearly, he was going for 'dramatic', but he just looked like he was doing some weird new-age dance inspired by a grasshopper.

I put down the quill, leaning my head on my hand. This was quite clearly a performance. The question was, just _why_ was Weasley pretending he needed Umbridge's help?

"Mr Weasley." Umbridge said, her tone quite curt, although high-pitched and quiet. "May I ask _why_ you are interrupting this session?"

He whirled around theatrically, and I couldn't help but scoff, just a little. As soon as I did, his eyes shot to me, and his entire face turned the most brilliant shade of red. All of his previous dramatics seemed to disappear a little, and he shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other for a minute.

I was going to say 'hello', just to see if I could make him turn redder, but Umbridge seemed to have forgotten me, and I quite liked it that way.

"Mr Weasley?" Umbridge prompted, snappishly.

His ears turned redder again, and he cleared his throat. "Right, Professor." With as much dignity as a man that red could muster, he straightened his back and continued, sounding urgent. "Peeves is on a rampage." I smiled some more, and he glanced at me self-consciously, but kept going. Clearly he was motivated in whatever reason he was telling this ridiculous lie for. "He's- he's _smashing_ the whole Transfiguration department! There's glass _everywhere_! And Macgonnagal told us that we have the most- uh- _big_ _and important_ Transfiguration collection in Europe."

Hah. No he isn't- he's in the Astronomy tower. Filch said so…

Oh, _poor_ Weasley. I wondered if I shouldn't try and make him stop. But then, who knew what he was up to? Maybe this was part of the plan? Maybe this whole thing was beneath me, anyway.

"Extensive." Umbridge said through clenched teeth and a small, hard smile. "The word is _extensive_."

Weasley straightened his back a little, and suddenly looked much more credible. "The word is '_ruined'_ if you don't come and do something now."

Good line, I shot him an encouraging thumbs up from my table, and he grinned a little before remembering that he was on an 'urgent mission' to save the Transfiguration department.

If only it were as easy to mime 'actually, Peeves is in the Astronomy tower, and Umbridge may or may not know that'. Clearly, there was little I could do beyond watch this play out. Now, in my situation, perhaps a Gryffindor might have jumped up and valiantly caused a distraction. A Hufflepuff might've cleared their throat and tried to help. A Ravenclaw (if feeling particularly charitable) might've worked out a clever excuse for Weasley's lie.

I'm a Slytherin. I watched and waited, not quite sure if it were worth my while to help out. Sure, maybe if Weasley was lying for some big, important reason I would jump in and classily save the day. But maybe he was just playing a joke. I wasn't going to get involved in a badly thought out joke! Terrible for my reputation!

Umbridge cocked her head to one side and let out a light, breathy sigh. "So." She said primly. "You are telling me that Peeves- the Poltergeist- is smashing the Transfiguration department all to bits. And _you_ care because you are the sort of student whom values 'big and important' Transfiguration collections?"

Wealsey nodded. "Look, we'd better get going, Professor…"

At that moment, a high-pitched ringing noise like an electric timer went off, annoyingly squeaking out the tune to that horridly sweet song 'You Are My Sunshine'. Of all the muggle songs for Wizarding bands to do covers of, why did it have to be _that_ song which was so popular?

It sounded somewhere between a kettle boiling and a chipmunk singing.

Both Weasley and I groaned, putting our hands over our ears and shooting Umbridge angry looks.

But our angry looks combined could not compare to the glower on her face. "My sensors." She said, more to herself than to us. And then her beady eyes shot up and latched onto Ron. But she didn't say anything to him, just stared at him, eyes full of speculation and distaste while he shuffled angrily from one foot to the other, clearly terribly uncomfortable.

Finally, without breaking eye contact, she reached into her purse and pulled out a little bell made of pink glass and decorated with lace.

Then she rang it, just once, and placed in back on the table.

I waited. This had gotten even more ridiculous than I'd expected. That bell reminded me of the way Pansy had summoned her house elf that time she'd been at the Manor for the weekend. She'd just rung a little bell- just the one time- and the elf had appeared.

So who was Umbridge contacting?

"Well. Well, well, well." Umbridge shook her head gently, then jumped to her feet. "Trying to break into my office? Absolutely ludicrous!" Her smile widened just a little as she looked at Weasley. "You _clearly_ lack the finesse for this sort of business, don't you, Mr Weasley." She said, but her voice was hard and angry. Weasley flushed, looking somewhere between worried and angry. He kept glancing at the door, as though he were waiting for something to happen. Watching him, Umbridge sighed. "Ah, well." She said, as though it were something rather inevitable that Weasley was an idiot. And then she glanced at me. "Detention is over for today, Miss Dahlquist. You may leave, but I shall expect you back here at nine o'clock sharp. Don't think that this boy's idiocy has spared you from being punished."

Whatever. Shrugging, I picked up my bag and walked to the door, carefully pocketing Umbridge's quill as I did so. She didn't notice. Good. I would break it into fifty pieces and scatter them around the whole school. Even if she 'accioed' it, she'd have a hard time getting it all back.

As I passed Weasley, I gave him a comradely nod, but he looked too angry to respond. Not particularly concerned, I skipped out of the classroom, wondering if I could catch the last of the sunlight down by the lake, or if it would already be getting dark.

Halfway down the corridor, I heard the pounding of many pairs of feet, and suddenly, half the Slytherin fifth years were careening down the corridor towards me.

"Move it, Dahlquist!" Milicent Bulstrode shouted, and they powered off again without so much as a backwards look.

So that at least was _one_ question answered: Umbridge had been calling her Inquisitorial Squad. Poor Weasley was not in for a good night.

As I headed to the corridor's exit, I noticed the Weaslette standing in front of me. As I watched, some students approached, and she held out a hand, stopping them. "Don't go that way." She said quickly. "The whole place is filled with garrotting gas!"

"Why aren't there any teachers around?" One of the students demanded shrewdly, and I felt gratified to see that it was a Slytherin. "If there's such a huge problem, why aren't there any teachers?"

Weaslette tossed her head impatiently. "Don't you think we've _sent_ for them?" She snapped. "Do you think I _want_ to spend the whole night guarding the corridor because some idiot was dumb enough to set off a bloody ton of garrotting gas? No!"

Dissuaded, the students moved away, and I smiled, pushing past her. She held out a hand. "No- didn't you hear me? The corridor is closed!"

I shrugged. "Is not." I said. "You're just part of whatever mess your brother's caught up in." I slid past her, and feeling charitable, elaborated. "Just saw the entire Inquisitorial Squad heading to take him out. Umbridge is quite angry about _something_. If you're involved, I suggest you make yourself scarce."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and I was forced to admit (_very_ grudgingly) that she was one of the prettiest girls in my year. "Now listen, you..." She snarled at me, but then her expression changed from angry to frantic, and instead of imparting some piece of vital knowledge, she began to sing, very loudly and off-key:

"_Weasley can save anything  
>He never lets the quaffle in<br>That's why Gryffindors all sing  
>Weasley is our king<em>

_Weasley is our king  
>Weasley is our king<br>He didn't let the quaffle in_…"

Taken aback, I blinked. "You are seriously weird." I said bluntly in French.

And then I was violently shoved aside as Umbridge, Draco and Milicent strode purposefully past me, heading – I assumed – for Umbridge's office.

"Wait!" Weaslette cried. "Garrotting gas- Professor, you can't…"

"Daphne." Draco prompted, and suddenly Daphne Greengrass was there, wand at the ready.

"Oi!" Somebody else shouted, and all of a sudden Longbottom was inexplicably _there_, looking constipated in his effort to appear menacing. "What are you doing?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Go away, Longbottom." He said, as Weaslette shot a spell at Daphne, who squealed angrily ("My robes- you _ruined_ my robes!") And shot one back, disarming Weaslette in an instant. Draco's gaze fell on me. "You, too, Estelle. Go back to the dorms, I'll be there later."

And without waiting to see if I'd agree, Draco strode off.

That annoyed me. He could've at least _pretended_ he wasn't sure if I'd agree. Stubbornly, I planted my feet on the ground.

"What is going on?" I asked, and then jumped back, narrowly missing what looked like a killer bat bogey hex from Weaslette, who'd reclaimed her wand.

"Oi, let go of her!" Longbottom shouted, his voice cracking a little, and then he pushed angrily at Crabbe, which I thought was wildly illogical, seeing as it was Daphne who was fighting Weaslette. It turned out to also be wildly stupid, as Crabbe hit Longbottom, not with a spell, but with a fist.

"Don't you touch my sister!" came a muffled shout from behind me, and I turned around to see Weasley (male Weasley) struggling futilely against the headlock Warrington had caught him in.

Apparently, I was the only one who appreciated the fact that it sounded like Weasley was calling Longbottom his sister.

"Found this one at the other end of the hall." Somebody called from within the corridor, and appeared dragging Luna along. Luna seemed unconcerned, though. She was running her hands along the bricks, apparently counting them. "Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine…" She muttered, and Tracy Davies rolled her eyes.

There was a cry as Longbottom was disarmed and grabbed and a rapid stream of curses from the Weaslette as Daphne physically wrenched her wand from her, and suddenly, with everybody safely restrained, all the Slytherins noticed me.

"Estelle!" Daphne chastised calmly, as though she weren't holding on to a squirming redhead. "Draco said to go back to the Dorm."

I shook my head. "Not until somebody explains… this." I waved my hand vaguely at the odd collection of students.

Nobody said anything. Finally, Warrington sniffed gruffly. "No time. We've got to go now."

And with that, they all trooped off, dragging their reluctant cargo with them.

You really have to wonder about the school administration which encourages that kind of behaviour.

…..

After that, I wasn't quite sure what to do.

Clearly, Harry was involved in whatever… thing… was going on. So far, I had counted four of his five regular lackies, and if Bushy Hair wasn't around, and Harry wasn't around…

Well, either those two were engaging in the world's nerdiest make-out session while their friends blindly caused chaos without their leadership, or they were wherever Umbridge had run off to, and the Gryffindor infestation was just some sort of distraction.

Badly thought out, I told myself. If Harry had asked _me_, I probably would have said no. But if I _had_ said yes, I would have thought this out a lot more clearly.

They need to get into Umbridge's office? They need a _distraction_?

So what's wrong with telling Peeves that? After all, recently he'd been bothering Umbridge, not the students, and considering his last-minute salute of the Wealsey brothers, perhaps he wouldn't have said no to a temporary alliance? That would have cleared up any discrepancies.

Alternatively, I would at _least_ have them check their facts.

Simpler still- throw a handful of mashed potatoes at the Slytherin table during dinner and an all out brawl would have started.

As I paced back and forth in front of the corridor, I couldn't help but feel frustrated that Harry hadn't asked me for help.

_Only, you're not friends_. My psyche reminded me helpfully.

Of course. We aren't friends.

That's why.

"That was a fast detention." I turned around to see Blaise standing behind me, chin raised, hands in his pocket. "Did you finally succumb to temptation and kill her?"

I grinned. "Do you see any blood on these hands?" I asked, holding my palms up for him to inspect. Then, with a sigh, I turned back to the corridor. "Half of Slytherin just ran down that corridor with the cream of Gryffindor society."

"Oh." Blaise's mouth turned down into a sneer. "Of _course_. You're waiting on Potter."

"I don't know what I'm waiting on." I said softly. And I didn't.

He sighed and strode over to stand beside me. "I wasn't going to talk to you about Draco last night." He said bluntly, without the slightest inflection or hint of emotion.

I nodded. "I didn't think so." There was a longish silence. Both of us knew that we weren't going to have _that_ conversation here.

"I don't think I like you very much, Estelle." Blaise said offhandedly.

I wasn't particularly offended. "I'm sure I don't like you." I told him. "You're too much like me."

"So neither of us like you. Well, that's certainly something." He said thoughtfully. And then. "I suppose that neither of us like _me_, either, if I'm like you."

I shook my head. "No, no. You like yourself just fine." Just then, we both heard the patter of feet as somebody sprinted up the corridor. We both looked up, waiting for whoever it was to appear.

"Three sickles that somebody's given Pansy antlers again." Blaise said boredly.

I scoffed. "Wishful thinking. Three sickles that the Weaslette has escaped- she's a firecracker."

We waited eagerly for the arrival of… Draco.

He frowned as he saw us. "Have you seen Snape?" He called, and then. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to work out what _you're_ doing here." I told him succinctly. "Has the Weaslette escaped?"

"Does Pansy have antlers?" Blaise put in.

Draco snarled. "No! And _no,_ Blaise. Merlin, what, do you have an animal fetish or something?" And then, through his happy scorn, he realised that he was busy. "I have to find _Snape_!" He shouted, as though we had hidden him somewhere.

The idea of Snape crouching behind a sofa, or in a cupboard, or hiding in the laundry basket, made me grin. With a snarl of frustration, Draco sprinted off again.

Straight away, Blaise turned to me. "Cough up." He said, holding out a hand. "You owe me."

"You owe me, too." I pointed out. "Pansy doesn't have antlers."

Solemnly, we exchanged sickles, somehow both feeling richer, even though the entire thing had been meaningless.

We sighed, returning to our silence. I still felt edgy. Swiftly, I lit a cigarette, pacing back and forth and blowing rainbow smoke rings into the air. Without a word, I passed it to Blaise, who took a drag. Then I took a drag. Then him again.

It felt sort of natural now.

"Students aren't allowed to smoke indoors!"

We looked up to see that Hufflepuff prefect Macmillan standing before us with his arms crossed.

I sighed. "I would move it outside," I told him sweetly. "Only last time, you said that I wasn't _allowed_ to be outside."

He rolled his eyes. "I need to get through this corridor." He announced pompously.

I shook my head. "Can't." I told him sadly, blowing a smoke ring deliberately in his face. "Garrotting gas- odourless and invisible, and _deadly_."

"Inside?" Macmillan looked suspicious. "Why are you here?"

I shrugged. "I'm waiting for a teacher." I said, trying to remember the Weaslette's earlier speech. "Um, I wouldn't normally do this- standing around in corridors- if it weren't for the fact that people might die."

That wasn't quite right.

"We're waiting for a teacher." I told him eventually. "Draco has run to get Professor Snape. Anyway, you can't come through. The only reason I'm still alive is because smoking indoors has made me used to toxic gasses."

Grumbling, Macmillan buggered off, still shooting me suspicious glares.

And then, once more, we heard the patter of feet.

Only now it wasn't one pair of frantic feet, instead, it was two pairs- one pair rapid, the other slow and somehow condescending.

Condescending footsteps? Draco had clearly found Snape.

I stepped forward to meet them, but Snape moved past in a rush, almost knocking me off of my feet.

Scowling, I made to flip him off behind his back, only to find that he'd jinxed my fingers together and vapourised my cigarette."I _hate_ that man." I told Blaise, who smiled coldly.

"Look, have you seen enough yet?" He asked with a sigh. "I want to eat dinner."

"So eat." I snapped at him.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm just _waiting_ for you to be nice." He told me scathingly.

Okay then. "So… go eat."

"Would it _kill_ you to accept civility with good-naturedness and gratitude?" Blaise hissed at me, and I laughed.

"Maybe not." I said with a vicious smile and a lazy shrug. "If you find somebody who could actually pull off 'civility' convincingly, we could see for ourselves."

I'm sure Blaise's retort would have been amazingly clever and perceptive, but he was cut off by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and then by Snape pushing roughly past him.

"In a hurry, Professor?" I asked politely, and he turned around, glowering at me. "Is something wrong?"

The corner of his mouth curved into a malicious smile. "Oh, the irony of _you_ asking me that." But then something took over, some greater purpose remembered, perhaps, and his jaw hardened. "Dahlquist, Zabini- I believe dinner is due to begin soon. Until such a time, you are to remain in the Slytherin Common Room or the consequences will be severe."

"Understood, Professor." Blaise said calmly, placing a restraining hand on my shoulder.

Snape nodded once, then spun around in a flurry of black robes and strode off.

I pulled away from Blaise, glowering. "What is your problem?" I demanded, crossing my arms and plonking myself on the floor.

"Don't be a child, Estelle." Blaise said, exasperated. "Now- get up and we'll be off."

I sniffed, nose in the air. "No."

Blaise snarled, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. "Est_elle_." He hissed. "I am not getting into any more trouble because of your impulsiveness!" He gave my arm another tug, but, having the mentality of a three year old, I yelled 'No' and curled up in a little ball. "Are you going to make me _drag_ you?" he demanded. I poked out my tongue and him, and he began to curse me in Italian.

The last time he'd done that, I'd been drunk. I was _not_ drunk, this time, and so I responded (maturely) by swearing at him in French.

Of course, Blaise wasn't being very passionate about the whole thing. He just stood there, looking down his nose at me and drawling things in Italian. It was a disappointing end to the 'fiery Italian' stereotype. I was a little more flamboyant, waving my arms around and shouting at him.

This went on for some time, and actually served as a better deterrent for students trying to use the corridor than the 'garrotting gas' lie had, but eventually we had both had enough.

Simultaneously we stopped, glaring at each other.

"What I just said." I told him, disgruntled, "was _incredibly_ witty and very scathing. You probably would have cried."

Blaise just rolled his eyes. "I doubt _that_ very much." He sniffed, and then sighed. "Look, Estelle, there's nothing for you to do here. And frankly, it seems like Potter chose his taskforce, and you clearly didn't make the short list." There was a slight pause, and I thought perhaps he'd be mature and leave it there, but of course Blaise couldn't help but add, "and be glad of that, because it seems like if you _had_ been one of the chosen few, you'd be in Umbridge's office in a headlock by now."

He was right. Harry hadn't wanted me to be there, so why was I waiting around for him? I stood up, brushing the dust off my clothes. "I haven't been thinking very clearly lately." I murmured to myself, and Blaise scoffed.

"I didn't know you knew _how_ to think clearly." He told me offhandedly.

….

I didn't have much fun waiting in the dorms. Jess and Carmeline were playing a game of blindfolded exploding snap, which was just as dangerous as it sounded, and so far, four of our housemates had suffered minor burns.

There was no way I was joining in with that.

Besides, my thoughts were far away. In my mind, I was trying to work out why I was so upset by _not_ being chosen to help Harry. Clearly, it was a difficult, high-risk and just plain stupid endeavour, whatever they were doing.

And seeing as I sort-of-not-really-maybe-a-little _like_ Harry, I should really have been glad not to have been faced with the prospect of doing something practically suicidal to help him out. If he'd asked, I would have had to turn him down, and that would put a dampener on everything. But somehow, not being asked was worse.

I pondered on that. Never before in my life had I had _any_ inclination to be on the losing side. I had been born with a very strong instinctive understanding of who was likely to succeed in any given situation, and whenever anything confrontational happened, that's what took over. Sure, every now and then I would branch out, ignore the strong and stick by the weaker ones (especially when the 'strong' included Pansy), but never when there was any real danger.

"Estelle." I looked up to see Jess, blindfolded with her tie, staring intently at the space over my left shoulder. "Want to play?"

"No, thanks." I sighed. It had been perhaps twenty minutes now. Twenty minutes of stressing.

Jess seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "You're _very_ boring tonight, Estelle." She observed. "Something must be wrong."

I waved a hand nonchalantly. "Yes. It's a moral dilemma."

Under her blindfold, Jess made a disgusted face. "A _moral_ dilemma." She asked warily. Her desire to win was even more ingrained than mine. "As in, you're using _morals_ to make this decision?"

I nodded, then remembered she couldn't see me. "Yes."

"Well, you seem really worried about something… someone?" Carmeline chimed in. "You're clearly not happy just sitting here."

"They don't want me _there_." I muttered, folding my arms childishly.

"But do they _need_ you?" Carmeline asked pointedly. "You're a little like that, sometimes. You have to be there if your friends _need_ you, even if they don't ask."

I vaguely remembered a night when Carmeline was as thin as a slice of paper and smiled. Clearly, she wasn't going to ask _who_ we were talking about. I suspected that was out of a sense of debt.

"Yes, but a _moral_ dilemma." Jess pointed out, still looking quite grossed out, and even though she was talking to Carmeline, she was facing poor Wilhelmina, and she was still holding a flaming playing card. "You want to encourage her using _morals_?"

Carmeline shrugged. "If it's important. And she doesn't feel right doing nothing. Look at her face…" Realising her faux pas, Carmeline amended. "I mean, you can practically _feel_ the dissatisfaction coming off of her in waves…"

"Carmy?" Jess asked sweetly. "Have you _charmed _your blindfold see-through?"

Ignoring the argument that was clearly breaking out, I considered Carmeline's words. I wasn't happy here.

He didn't want me, but judging from what I'd seen of their situation, he definitely _needed_ me.  
>And I helped my friends when they needed it…<p>

"_Mon dieu_." I whispered in French. "I'm friends with Harry Potter."

"What did you say?" Jess snapped, looking up from cursing Carmeline.

I shook my head. "Nothing. I have to go, girls. I'll be back for dinner, I think…"

Ignoring their questions, I jumped up, grabbing Blaise's cloak from the couch. Mine was all the way up the dorm stairs, and I didn't know _how_ I was going to help Harry, but I knew that it was imperative that I got there as soon as possible.

I'd already changed out of my robes and into muggle clothes, and I knew that Umbridge _hated_ that, so the cloak was important. I wanted to antagonise her as little as possible, and if she couldn't tell that I'd jumped out of my uniform at first chance, that would be a start.

So, as I ran out the door, I pulled Blaise's far-too-big cloak over my denim shorts and oversized jumper. There wasn't much to be done about my combat boots, though. Still, Umbridge was hardly going to be analysing my outfit.

I ran up the stairs, still not quite clear on what my plan of action would be.

First, I'd enter the classroom, naturally.

And then…?

Well, she'd want to know why I was there. Alright, I'd say I'd come back for detention. That was… not at all plausible. I was the last person to seek out punishment. And she'd clearly told me nine o'clock.

I could say I needed to tell her about a timetable clash with my detention. Ah, yes. I'd say that the detention I'd gotten from the substitute Transfiguration professor was at nine instead of seven, and I couldn't come. I'd suggest that we could put it off until next week.

It _might_ work, seeing as it sort of counted as me trying to wriggle out of an engagement.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I paused in the middle of the stairwell to do a triumphant fist pump.

Now all I needed to do was to work out how to help. I could get in, but then what? It isn't as though I could whip out my wand and challenge Umbridge to a duel. It wasn't as though I could cause a distraction while they slipped away. Harry had already been caught. She knew it was him, and even if I could put off his punishment, I couldn't make it go away completely. If he ran, she would just find him.

So, the logical half of my brain asked, why are we bothering with this?

I wasn't sure. Every sensible cell in my body was screaming with frustration, but in my gut I knew that Harry was in danger. Umbridge had demonstrated that she thought pain was a wonderful way of disciplining students. And if she had us cut our own hands open fifty times over just for answering back, how would she respond to people breaking into her office.

That thought strengthened my resolve, and as I pulled my wand out of my pocket, I knew that I'd set my course of action. If Umbridge was hurting my friend, then she would have me to answer to, damn the consequences.

Blaise thought I was impulsive? He had no idea.

Setting my shoulders, I strode towards Umbridge's door.

"If you're looking for Umbridge, she isn't there."

I turned around to see a bored looking Ravenclaw seventh year. "Excuse me?" I asked.

The girl grinned. "Nice shoes." She nodded at my boots. "Yeah, she's actually gone from the castle, if you can believe it. Went down to the forbidden forest with Harry Potter and one of his little friends."

I considered this. "Thanks." I murmured, and she shrugged, continuing on her way.

So Harry wasn't in there anymore. And neither was Umbridge. That should have calmed me down, or at least sent me running towards the forest to stop what sounded like it was going to be a ritual execution, but instead, I froze. Something felt wrong about this whole situation. Something just wasn't quite right.

With a growing sense of trepidation, I flung open the door to her office and saw….

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Alright, so before you kill me, that isn't really a real cliffhanger.

First of all, you all have some idea of what's going to be in Umbridge's office. Secondly, I'm updating the second part right now. See, this was originally just one chapter. But it was obscenely long.

So, into two parts we go, to make up for the horrendously long wait for an update.

Thank you, as always, for the reviews. So, to **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, **andiescandieee**, **myhoneyclaire**, **XoXMaximumculleNXoX**, **Mask with a truth**, **The Agent of Fire**, **BlackCatFullMoon** and **ashu711**

To those who have reviewed before, you know I love to hear from you, and to the newcomers, I'm so glad you like my story.

Now, there's just a little Blaise in here, simply to reassure people that he isn't going to _completely_ hate Estelle- yet. But theirs is going to be a rollercoaster ride of a relationship, just to warn you.

**myhoneyclaire**: I hope you found chapter 15, or this one won't make lots and lots of sense, although it shouldn't be too bad!

**ashu711:** the answer is yes and no- sorry, that's quite vague, I know. It is in the sense that, at the moment, Estelle has feelings for Harry. He's the first person she's wholly trusted since her mother- she feels oddly connected to him. But she's still at least a little tied to Blaise. Still, I'm glad you like the fic.

It's cool to see all of you deciding which guy you want Estelle to end up with. I still can't make up my mind, personally, so keep the votes coming. I'm definitely leaning one way, but I won't say which.

Stressing about the next chapter- it's the climactic scene you've all been waiting for, and I really hope it meets your expectations. xxx


	17. Chapter 17

"Drake?" I asked, gazing around the room in confusion. Crabbe and Goyle were lying splayed out over near the window, clearly stunned by a fairly powerful spell. Warrington was struggling on the floor, gagged and bound by magical restraints. Milicent Bulstrode was bobbing peacefully in the breeze from the open window- she seemed to have been frozen mid-lunge by an impediment jinx. Over in the corner, Pansy was sobbing quietly, gingerly touching the place where her nose had been. Some enterprising young thing had followed in the animal theme and replaced it with an elephant's trunk.

And Draco…. It was disgusting. I gazed at him in horror. Not only was he bound and gagged like Warrington, but somebody had hit him with a bat bogey hex of epic proportions. His face was absolutely covered in what looked like winged pustules. Resisting the urge to gag, I moved to his side.

"What is going on?" I asked, dropping to my knees and undoing the bonds which encircled him with a flick of my wand. "Where did Potter and that go?"

With a frustrated yelp, he spat a fluttering bogey off of where it had latched on his tongue. It was getting harder and harder not to retch as I watched those things flapping all over his face, moving as he spoke. "They _did_ this, Estelle! Those _bastards!_ They deserve everything they're about to get!"

I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat. "Draco?"

Underneath the horrible bogeys, I could see that his face was flushed with the humiliation of being beaten. And more than that, he _hated_ it when I saw him at less than his best. He wanted to be seen as my protector, and here I was, rescuing him. "They're headed to the Ministry, to save his precious _godfather._" Draco snarled, angrily trying to pull the bogeys off his face, but only managing to send them into a frenzy. "Only- only he isn't there- it's a trick."

I'd spotted the wands the Gryffindors must've taken from the Inquisitorial squad- they'd all been snapped in half and thrown out of the window. But I didn't have time for that now. "How do you know all this, Drake?" I asked frantically. "What trick?"

Draco's laugh was bitter. "Father told the _whole_ family." He spat maliciously, giving up on the bat bogeys but still crying a little with shame. "It's all been arranged- Father, Bellatrix, Rodolphus- they'll be waiting…. And they'll get Potter once and for all!"

I saw red, remembering Lestrange's strong fingers, Bellatrix's mad eyes. And Lucius… Lucius, who was so vicious with a wand, and who despised Harry so much. "Draco, they'll kill him!" And then I realised something- mudblood Bushy Hair, blood traitor Weasley, Loony Luna and that bumbling Longbottom boy- they'd all been here, and they were all gone now. Gone with Harry, gone to the people who'd want them dead. "They'll kill all of them!"

Draco's eyes flashed a little, and I knew he wasn't comfortable with this. His hate didn't run so deep.

"Good." Pansy hissed through her tears. "Those little bastards deserve it." Warrington began nodding wildly in agreement, still silenced by his gag. And I wasn't going to be undoing _that_ in a hurry.

"I don't think so," I said quietly, and suddenly realised that I'd already decided what I was going to do.

You have to help friends, even when they don't ask for it. I'd come in here, thinking Harry was in trouble. Had the situation changed just because the risk was now greater? No, it just meant that my help would be all the more important.

All around me, my classmates were swearing, unconscious or temporarily deformed. Harry's friends had done this. And on my way to help them, I'd stumbled across others who needed my help. Slytherins, people who were technically my family. People I'd known since I came to this country. People I'd known longer than the year that I'd known Harry.

People to whom I should be unconditionally loyal.

A sense of calm purpose stole over me.

There wasn't even a choice here. My course of action was obvious.

I just had to do it now

Tearing my gaze away from Draco, I strode over to the fireplace, barely recognisable under the layers of frilly pink cloths and lacy doilies that decorated it.

"Estelle- Estelle, don't do anything rash…." Draco was saying. I ignored him. Rash actions were my only feasible option at this point. I saw the panic enter Draco's eyes as he realised what I was about to do. "Estelle- you don't _know_, you don't get it! You're picking a side, Elle, do you realise that? Don't you _see_?"

I closed my ears against Draco's words. What he was saying was true, but it added greater significance to my actions, and if I accepted that, then I would stay and give the implications of my choice the full consideration necessary.

And if I did that, I would be too late.

The floo powder was conveniently resting in an open container on top of the fireplace- somebody had used it recently. It was a vivid green- but not as deep as Harry's eyes. Turning my back on my housemates, I threw a handful of powder into the fire, shouting "Ministry for Magic". The last thing I saw was Draco's betrayed face, and then the green flames enveloped me.

And I was gone.

….

I landed in a long, wide passage, lined with fireplaces and floored with dark wood. The ceiling above me was sky blue, and full of continually shifting golden symbols.

The overall décor seemed to say: "Children, the public service is a magical, mystical career path, and not at all for wankers. Our work is important, and we're pretty flashy."

What ostentatious idiots. The whole thing lacked credibility, and even a quick glance showed me that the gold would have looked more striking against a darker blue, and perhaps if it were shot through with other colours. If I'd designed it, I would have made it full of swirling vines, cutting out the ridiculous symbols, which served no discernible purpose, unless you counted giving visitors a headache.

But perhaps I was biased.

After all, the last time I'd been in a ministry, it was in France- the day that Lucius sued for custody of me. The day I knew for sure that my mother would not return.

I hated these places.

"Potter!" I shouted- my voice reverberated off of the walls and back at me. There was no answer, "shit." I cursed. This plan had been even less thought out than my last effort. Pulling my wand from my robes and holding it at the ready, I set my shoulders and clenched my jaw. I was ready- I could do this. I just needed to _hurry_. Making a split second decision, I sprinted down the corridor until it widened out into a huge atrium, at the centre of which was a beautiful fountain…

Which I was not going to waste time admiring.

"_Merde_." I snapped, stamping my foot on the floor, "where are you, Potter?"

Of course, no answer. And strangely, no security. A quick scan of the room revealed a huge desk, which looked like the sort of place where you'd sit a fat man to glower intimidatingly at the populace, but there was nobody there. I didn't have time to worry about that, though, because I'd spotted something helpful- lifts.

Running through the golden gates, which had already been pushed open, I jumped into the closest one, sure that in _this_ instance, following my instincts was a good idea. Closing my eyes, I jabbed at the nearest button- DOWN.

The lift creaked and rattled into life, screeching as it descended. After an interminable period of time, it came to a halt. "Department of Mysteries" a voice proclaimed.

"Sure. Whatever." I agreed, jumping out of the grill… and into a long, thin, dark corridor. There were no other doors, and no other ways to go.

Well, at least they'd made it simple for me. I had a brief moment of doubt as I stood there, and couldn't help but turn back to the lift, biting my lip and wondering whether or not I'd come the right way. I was on the very bottom floor- if I'd gone straight past Harry, and he was being murdered by Bellatrix on one of the other floors….

But no. I was never going to be sure of myself in this situation. There was always going to be huge room for mistakes. The key was to keep moving. Every choice I made had massive potential to be wrong, so I just had to make as many choices as possible as quickly as I could, in the hopes that one of them would be right.

And with that thought, I sprinted down the corridor, feeling my hair tangling behind me, and with no sound but the slap of my boots against the tiled floor. It was lucky, I thought, that they'd made the layout of this department so simple.

What a way to tempt fate.

I pushed open the door, and jumped into a circular room. It was rimmed with identical doors, all of which were black and ridiculously polished, just like the walls and floors. I wanted to cry. I wondered how interns managed to navigate the ministry on their first day. But at least for the first time that day, I knew I was on the right track, because burned into the doors were huge, smoking Xs, fading even as I watched. I put a hand to the first door- it was warm to the touch.

Not wanting to shut the door I'd come out of behind me, I made a quick decision and propped it open with one of my boots, then I tried the first door- locked. The second unmarked door opened easily, and I peered into the room, wand raised.

It was a mess. Desks were knocked over, books torn- as though a bomb had hit it.

I was too late to warn Harry. The Death Eaters were already here.

I could almost make out something in the dim light- what looked like a fishtank, with large, floating shapes bobbing around in it. And in front of the fish tank, hidden by an overturned desk- was that a _leg_?

I moved towards it, a sinking feeling in my stomach, but before I'd moved any further into the room I heard screaming, from behind the second marked door. I didn't have to think, or to choose- whoever was in that room wasn't moving, but whoever was behind this door was very much alive, and very much in need of help. Steeling myself for the worst, I made to kick it open…..

"Expelliarmu-" somebody began to say behind me, and I swung around, so quickly that there wasn't time for my attacker to react.

"Protego!" I barked, and their spell bounced harmlessly off me, as I took up my fighting stance.

My attacker, wreathed in shadows, paused for the briefest of seconds. "She's just a kid…" he began, and then, suddenly, others swarmed into the room- I knew my only chance was to fight, but I instinctively backed up- straight into the room where the noises had come from.

When I felt my shoeless heel slip into open air instead of onto solid ground, that I realised that the entire floor was sunken in, forming a sort of Colosseum-like room. Only then did I glance over my shoulder, only to see Harry, ringed by death eaters while Longbottom writhed in pain on the ground.

I wanted to cry- all of this effort and I couldn't help them. The best I could do was to keep these reinforcements from getting in there and making the situation worse. The rest, I reasoned, my mind a whirl of thoughts, was up to Harry.

Their very presence offended me. My mouth twisted into a snarl. "Oh, _very_ brave." I snapped at them. "No wonder you lost the last war if you need ten fighters to subdue two _teenagers._" One of the figures glanced at the others, then stepped forward, wand outstretched. I flicked my wand to him. "That's far enough." I snapped, my mind spinning as I desperately tried to think of a way to keep them all at bay. I was pureblood- would that give them pause? No, they were killers. Could I bring up Lucius…?

Maybe that would have been an option if I hadn't just _insulted_ them. Blaise was right- my childishness just got me into trouble.

And though only a millisecond had passed, the element of surprise I had wielded was clearly wearing off. They were pushing forwards, apparently driven by the same sense of urgency I felt. "Back off!" I snapped at the advancing death eaters, "I'll fight you all! Get away! _Stupe-"_

"Estelle, it's me!" and it was that man from the train station- Lupin. He frowned at me, "move- we're on Harry's side." It didn't matter that he somehow knew my name, that he spoke like I should know him, that he somehow knew- despite my upbringing, despite _everything_- that I was there for Harry Potter. It didn't matter at all, because I believed him.

My eyes flickered in the split second when I decided to trust him, but he must've spotted the resolve on my face, because the time I had shakily stepped to one side, nodding curtly at him, they were already powering past me, wands at the ready.

Between all of them, there was barely a single glance in my direction. I was an obstacle- I'd been removed. Beyond that, I was irrelevant. They didn't care.

Except for one.

He didn't look like much- I was shocked he was with them at all, he was so skeletal and wasted. He didn't say anything to me, really- just looked at me briefly, his eyes skirting over my face, my hair. My eyes. He looked at those for a while. Or only a second- it just seemed forever, perhaps it really was. All I knew was that in that brief lifetime, something electric passed between us, something strange and undefinable. And then, with a face devoid of any expression, he leapt down the stairs, "you stay down, you hear me!" he called back to me, sounding for all the world like a father disciplining his child. And then he joined the melee.

"Don't you tell me what to do," I muttered in French, following him down the stairs. Straight into a duel. I dodged it, running for Harry.

It was chaos. Whoever these new fighters were, they were brilliant, and as agile as I was, I was having trouble dodging the rain of curses they were shooting. But the Death Eaters were no different, their spells fell hard and fast, causing damage wherever they hit.

The first few seconds seemed to take a lifetime to pass. I recognised the good guys swirling around me- there was the gaunt man, duelling so fast that you couldn't even discern his movements, but with a grace that made it look like a dance. There was Lupin- and was that Professor Moody? And there again- the black man who'd caught us drunkenly returning to our dorms the night that Dumbledore disappeared.

What was this?

But my shock wore off quickly enough, and I flung myself into action, letting instinct take over. My mind always worked quickly when I was under pressure, and I had achieved an almost detached, analytical calm. Feeling like I was just watching the scene from a distance, I located Harry, being choked by a Death Eater while Longbottom, with a pained expression, danced like a lunatic.

Instinctively, I shot a quick curse at the Death Eater, running forwards. Without dropping his hold on Harry, who was turning an unattractive shade of puce, the Death Eater dodged the curse and sent one powering back at me. I snarled and blocked it, "Stupefy!" I snarled, holding my wand loosely, just like Harry had said.

His shield was too slow and he lurched backwards, just as Longbottom jabbed a wand into the eyehole of his mask. Without checking to see if he was still in action, I lowered my wand slightly, leaping over the unconscious, though stirring, form of Professor Moody to reach the boys.

Harry, meanwhile, had followed the path of the stunning spell, and his eyes widened in surprise as he traced it back to me. "I came to warn you-" I called shortly, then smiled humourlessly, "I'm a little late."

I hadn't even finished speaking when Harry's eyes shifted from me, and pushing me to one side, he shouted '_Protego'_. But it wasn't enough- the spell was strong enough to send both of us stumbling backwards, Harry clutching at his chest and wincing in pain.

My eyes narrowed, and I sent a vicious hex behind me, before rapidly producing a shield charm to supplement Harry's, which had gutted and faded when the Death Eater's curse had hit us. I didn't check to see if he was OK- he had to be.

Without thinking, I had raised my wand again, stepping almost defensively in front of Harry, just in case he needed more time to recover. The Death Eater barked with laughter as he saw me, but instead of cursing me, the spell he uttered was '_accio_'. I didn't know what he was trying to get, but I threw up another shield charm, just in case, just as the gaunt man from before barrelled into him, snarling and sending him flying. Behind me, I heard Harry swear, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him lunge for something.

I was seized by indecision. What was I meant to do now? Just- protect Harry?

But even as I felt momentarily lost, my eyes latched on another Death Eater, charging at us with his wand in the air.

I recognised him immediately, and my mouth curved into a determined smile. Good.

"Stupefy!" I snarled, sending a fierce stunner his way. He'd got a shield up just in time, but the strength of my spell sent him reeling back a little way. Seizing on this, I shot another curse his way- this time a nasty one from one of the books Fred and George had gotten me. This curse unravelled muscles. "Try strangling me _now_." I hissed in rapid French. But the spell was tricky, and I only managed to hit one hand. He growled, flicking the wand to his other hand and circling me.

Til that point, I'd had him surprised. But that little pause, where I'd had to recover from the last spell I'd cast, had changed that. Now, Lestrange was on the offensive. And he was _good_. Desperately, I shot 'Protego' after 'Protego' at him, my spells weakening with each moment. Finally, inevitably, one spell broke through my weak shield, eating through Blaise's cloak and my jumper, like acid. I winced in pain, shooting another shield charm his way. Our duel must've lasted just seconds, but I was already sweating.

Lestrange, though, seemed _excited_. "See this, Black?" He howled hoarsely. "You see me?"

I don't know who he was talking to, or what it meant, but somebody _else_ sure saw him. And while he was cackling and shooting two-bit spells my way, the black auror shot one hell of an impedimentia jinx at him.

Glad to be free of him, I whirled around to check on Harry, and that's when I heard the cry.

It was Bellatrix, duelling fiercely with a young witch up on the higher levels. And the witch was losing…

The sight of her somehow awoke something in me, and suddenly, I felt a surge of adrenalin so vital that it almost knocked me off of my feet.

I turned around, crying out the first curse that came to mind. It blasted at one of the stone benches bellow Bellatrix's feet, just as she cursed the other witch so strongly that she toppled off of the level.

That done, she looked around for who'd cursed her, and met my eyes.

"Like Father like Daughter," she called cryptically, and with a cackle, raised her wand. I mirrored her action, tossing my hair out of my eyes and feeling the energy rising inside of me like bile.

'Expelliamus!" I snarled, as she screamed out another spell, and our curses flew towards each other. She deflected mine easily, and I made to raise a shield charm when….

A hand grasped my shoulder, and I felt my concentration shatter. Terrified that I'd turn around to see a Death Eater standing behind me, I snarled, trying to rip free of that firm grasp, completely forgetting about the curse Bellatrix had sent whirling towards me.

"Protego!" A voice barked from behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see the gaunt man standing beside me, a perfect wall of magic deflecting the streak of purple that was Bellatrix's spell. With a snarl he pushed me firmly to the ground, absently shooting another curse Bellatrix's way, his eyes furious. As we crouched behind a large piece of one of the stone benches, the man grabbed my shoulders. His hands were so big that they could hold me effortlessly in place- I felt like a child, except that as a child there had never been a man there. "I told you to stay down," he snapped at me, glancing at the still smoking tears in my clothes. But his eyes weren't angry. They were worried. "Do you not do _anything_ you're told?"

"And what gives you the right to order me around?" I snapped back at him, kicking out viciously at his leg. "Get off me! I want to help!"

He smiled sadly, and ran a hand over my hair with almost fierce intensity, pushing it back off of my face and smoothing it down. We stayed like that for a moment, and the intensity in his gaze made it seem almost like there wasn't anything else in the room, just us. As his eyes darted over my face, taking everything in, he made to say something. But just at that moment, a scream echoed around us, and the tenderness in his eyes was tempered with alertness. For him, the battle had begun again. "Stay here." He said firmly, cupping my face in his hands and staring into my eyes for the shortest eternity possible before he jumped up to join the fight once more.

Of course, I ignored him, jumping to my feet and hurling a curse at the nearest death eater.

And then my wand was gone- shot out of my hand and skidding across the floor. Swearing, I made to retrieve it, snatching it up just as someone else lunged for it- Lucius.

Everything halted, and the world seemed to spin around me. As I wrenched the wand from the hands of the man who had raised me, Draco's words echoed loudly through my mind and the enormity of my decisions here today hit me like a punch in the gut.

But Lucius' eyes were hard, and I knew that mine should be, too. I'd chosen my course of action, and I would see it through.

I scrambled away from him, loping past the gaunt man to where Harry was struggling to pull Longbottom to his feet, "do you have him?" I asked, shrugging myself under his other arm, "can he walk?"

As though in answer, Longbottom collapsed, his legs kicking out in all direction. I bit my lip as his foot connected with my stomach, helping Harry haul him to his feet. But just as we seemed to have gotten him upright, Lucius was there. He grabbed my shoulder, throwing me to one side as he shoved his wand between Harry's ribs. I'd managed to keep a hold of my wand, and though I was now bleeding from where my face had grazed the stone, I jumped to my feet.

In a blur, though, Harry threw something to Longbottom, then cursed Lucius before he could attack the other boy. I leapt to Harry's side, watching with trepidation as Lucius jumped up, ready to curse all of us.

"Remus!" I heard somebody yell hoarsely, and I looked up to see the gaunt man, still duelling fiercely. As I watched, his eyes flicked down to us, just as he shot one hell of a strong stunner at Bellatrix. She screamed, dodging it with effort, and he looked back to us. "Remus, get her _out_!" And suddenly, Lupin was there, pushing Harry and I back, yelling at us to find the others and leave.

By some silent understanding, Harry and I began to haul Longbottom up onto the first tier of the stone steps. But he was heavy- very heavy. "Can't- _hold_ him." I muttered through gritted teeth as he kicked me in the shin. Harry swore, grabbing him by the robes as a spell hit the stone block beneath us, crumbling it. We all fell into a heap on the ground, and I screamed and another hex hit my shoulder, "_Merde_!"

It burned an amazing amount, and I fell back against the cool stone, scrabbling once more for my wand- fallen in the debris. Beside me, Harry was struggling to pull Longbottom upright. I got shakily to my feet, glancing at my shoulder- my top was singed through, fully this time, and the skin you could see through the hole was charred and blackened- turning grey.

"Ow." I murmured weakly, stepping gingerly out from behind the stone blocks. My wrist ached from being crushed by Longbottom's weight- had I broken it?

I didn't have time to care. They were still all coming at us, thick and fast and terrifying.

I'd heard Harry cry out, and heard the smashing of glass to my left, but when I glanced that way, all I could see was a vague, shadowy figure, rising from the mist. Longbottom began to blubber, then, shouting something rendered gibberish because of what looked like a broken nose.

It didn't matter. Nothing did right then. I reached down, grasping Harry's hand, and without looking at each other, we raised our wands, ready to fight.

And then it all changed. The death eaters began to run, struck down where they stood by a witch of wizard I couldn't see. But then I heard it- a general cry from the good fighters still conscious.

"Dumbledore!"

As one, Harry and I glanced up at the top of the room to see- and in what other school would this ever happen?- our Headmaster, speeding towards the fray.

Everything happened so quickly then- the Death Eaters scattered in fear, and Harry stopped trying to pull Longbottom out of the room, instead watching Dumbledore with awe on his face. I could feel myself shaking, and I knew I was on the verge of collapse.

I'd never done so much magic before in my life, and I was falling apart. But somehow, despite my fear and exhaustion, my overwhelming instinct was to keep fighting. After the past ten minutes, I knew that _that_ would be my instinct for the rest of my life.

And then I saw them- still duelling in the centre of the room- the gaunt man and Bellatrix, exchanging spells that flew thick and fast. They were a marvel, but he impressed me the most. Because though she fought like a demon, her face was blank of any emotion- she was like a robot. But the man- he was taunting her, even as he danced and dodged her spells. He was laughing, jeering, with an indomitable grin on his face, which lit his features and made him seem…..

Beautiful.

I looked for Harry behind me, only to see that he was watching the same fight- eyes glued to the gaunt man. Was that the godfather Draco had mentioned?

Even as this thought crossed my mind, I saw Harry's face freeze in shock, and I looked back at the fight.

He was gone. The gaunt man was falling soundlessly through the veil… and then he was just- gone. I felt an inexplicable, swooping sense of loss, even as Bellatrix whooped in triumph, and Harry screamed, "Sirius!"

I felt numb, and detached from the scene around me- had that man just _died_? Suddenly, Harry had wrenched free of me, and was running down towards the archway. Without him there, I stumbled, and still, I couldn't look away from it either. Something passed through me, like an icy wave. I was frozen.

And then, the world began again- a spell flew past me and I threw up a shield- shooting a curse at a nearby death eater, who deflected it easily before Dumbledore shot him down.

"Estelle- get over here, now!" I heard somebody call, and grudgingly obeyed, stifling my desire to ignore the order. It was Lupin- the werewolf.

I ran to his side, my eyes on Harry, who was still staring mutely at the archway, Lupin's arm restraining him from running towards it. As I watched, Longbottom asked him if Sirius Black was a friend of his.

Before I could hear Harry's answer, Lupin was quizzing Longbottom about the others. I just kept watching Harry. I'd never seen anybody look that desolate- I'd never seen _Harry_ look so hollow. I moved forward, to _talk_ to him, to comfort him, when Lupin grabbed my shoulder, turning me to face him, "are you alright?" he demanded calmly. But his hand was on my wounded shoulder, and though I tried to nod, I let out a wince of pain.

He frowned, looking at the skin showing through my shirt.

"Right, you sit down, and don't move," he told me, "stay with the others."

"Why should I?" I snapped at him, "I don't know you! I'm fine- I can keep helping…."

He frowned fiercely, "I don't have time to argue with you, Lee…" we both froze, shocked the name he'd called me.

Feeling the blood pumping fast through my veins, I levelled him with a look, "how did you know my mum?" I asked quietly. His eyes spoke years of pain as he opened his mouth to answer.

And then Harry was gone. Lupin's head jerked away, "Harry-no!" he shouted, as Harry ripped out of his grasp, running after Bellatrix, screaming that name again- Sirius Black.

"She's ruthless- she'll _murder_ him." I breathed, and jumped up to run after him.

"Don't you _dare_- Estelle! Get back here- you're hurt! Estelle!"

But I was gone. When mum had sent me to muggle schools, I'd always won the running races. I could sprint for ages without getting tired, and I loved to. It felt like I was leaving all the bad stuff behind me. That's what I used to tell myself. I'd say, _'there's bad things coming after me- if I run fast enough, I can lose them, and we'll be happy'_. I always ran faster, knowing I was escaping nightmares. But I have never run faster than when I was chasing something good that was getting away- Harry.

And I was putting up a fight. I moved effortlessly quickly up the stone ledges, leaping from one to the other like a mountain goat, chasing Harry's path into the room with the desks and the fish tank.

And then- "Dahlquist?"

It was the Weaslette, leaning against a wall, clutching her ankle. Now that I looked, there were students everywhere.

Granger was lying in the corner, while the other Weasley- Ron, I'd met Ron- was giggling to himself in a pool of water. I preferred not to think too much about that. And Luna was groaning from where she lay, in the centre of the room. Those were the legs I thought I'd seen earlier.

Not much help to be had from that quarter.

I looked back to the Weaslette. "Which way did Harry go?" She looked suspicious and I rolled my eyes, "I'm _helping_ him!"

And then I heard the crash, like something metal was pulling itself free, reverberating somewhere far above our heads. The Atrium. The Weasley girl whimpered in fear, clutching her wand. And then Lupin sprinted in, "Estelle, you stay right where you are, you hear?" he snapped, dropping to his knees beside the girl, "Ginny, can you walk?" she shook her head.

From the distant atrium, sounds of battle could still be heard. I jigged uselessly jumping from foot to foot, wishing I could run to help Harry….

"I'm watching you, Estelle," Lupin said sternly. I frowned, "don't even think about it!" I shot him a look. He was still crouched by Weasley girl, gently prodding her ankle with his fingers, looking concerned.

"He needs _help_!" I insisted. "Can't you hear what's going on?"

"I can hear as well as you can," he snapped, wand hovering over Weasley girl- Ginny's- ankle. "But Albus is there with him now." He sighed, and I could see the pain in his face. He wanted to be there as much as I did. "There's nothing you could do to help- you'd simply be in the way."

I bit my lip, refusing to believe it. Surely I'd be an asset? Any help was appreciated when fighting maniacs! Lupin seemed to see this conclusion cross my face. He glowered, "I will curse you, Estelle," he said, actual fury seeping into his tone. "Don't. Go. _Anywhere_."

I hissed under my breath, like a cat, my fingers twitching around my wand. Lupin shot me another look. He'd splinted Weaslette's (_Ginny's_) ankle, and had moved over to Ron, working quickly at something I couldn't quite see. But his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. I wondered if he was going to tell me what was going on, but he said nothing more than, "stay." And then, showing a great deal of insight, he said, "actually, run back to the stone room- quickly! And ask for Nymphadora Tonks. Bring her here, if you're able." He'd realised that the only way to keep me out of trouble was to distract me, to _let_ me help.

But I wasn't going to do that- not by a long shot. The only female I'd seen fighting against the death eaters had fallen down several hard, stone layers- I wasn't going to be able to bring her anywhere. Unless maybe I dragged her? So, the second he looked away, I sprinted for the atrium, ignoring his cried to come back.

I was in the lift in a second, and though it moved with preternatural speed, I only wished it would go faster.

When I stepped out into that elegant chamber, it was ravaged beyond my expectations. The fountain I'd neglected to admire was rubble- its golden statues in pieces on the floor. The polished wooden floor was cracked and chipped, and covered by a layer of water inches deep. In the centre of the room, Dumbledore stood, stock still, staring intently at…..

"Harry," I whispered, making to move towards him, but then he spoke.

_'Kill me, Dumbledore_," he said, in a voice which I didn't recognise, "_If death is nothing, kill the boy…."_

"Estelle," Lupin grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, dragging me back into the elevator and jabbing at the 'down' button. None too gently, he forced me to my knees, whipping his wand out. "Now I could put you on a leash, but I think you're too old for that," he snapped, his eyes dark with anger as the floors whooshed past around us. "Try to understand- this place is crawling with death eaters- it's all we need for them to get a hostage because you were too stubborn to do what you were told."

I glared at him, "you have no right to talk to me like that," I told him angrily, "I don't even know you!"

"Well, I know you!" he half shouted. I blinked as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

"Department of Mysteries." The automated woman's voice chimed in, somehow diffusing the tension. Lupin sighed, pushing the grate open and pulling me out into the dark corridor.

"Listen- I knew your parents, and I see them in you, so I _understand_, please believe that." I felt a wave of uncertainty pass through me, even as I looked into his eyes and saw just how much he meant what he was saying. "But you really have to stay with the others, alright?" I felt like a child. Chastised, I nodded meekly, and he made an approving noise, gently pushing me forwards. "Straight back to that first chamber, Estelle, and go slowly." He frowned, "I'm worried about that arm of yours- it looks like it's spreading."

I ignored that. My arm throbbed a little, but that was natural as could be, I assumed.

Back in the stone room, the aurors (surely they were aurors) were gathering. Professor Moody stood tall in the middle, clearly recovered, bellowing orders at the few who remained on their feet. I noticed that the girl auror was gone- probably at St Mungo's by now. Ginny Weasley and Longbottom were standing awkwardly to one side, as the healthiest students, but the others- Weasley, Granger and Luna- were gone. Already taken to help, I assumed.

Professor Moody's eye snagged on me. "Dahlquist," he bellowed, "and what are you doing here?"

I shrugged wearily- I was suddenly quite tired. "Not sure, Professor. You?"

Grumbling, he stomped down from podium where the archway stood and over to my side, "I'm not a professor." He reminded me, bringing to mind the scandal with the polyjuice potion that had been unearthed at the end of last year. That's right- he _wasn't _a professor. We'd never really met. So how did he know me? But then, Moody was speaking again; "Came searching for Black, too, did you?" he said gruffly, but strangely gently. With _sympathy_.

I must have looked completely at a loss, because he made a convinced grunting noise and grabbed my arm. "Let's take you to stand with the others," he muttered.

But I didn't go. Because the arm he'd grabbed was my injured one, and suddenly bolts of pain seared through the entire limb. I cried out and fell to my knees.

"Dahlquist! Get up! What's the matter with you?" I could hear Professor Moody demanding, but I ignored him. Instead, I peeled back the sleeve of my shirt, and felt myself keel over.

Because that little charred patch of skin on my shoulder wasn't so little anymore. It had spread down my entire arm and across my chest, and it was _burning_.

I must have fallen quite hard, because it hurt when I hit the ground.

That's about all I remember.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PLEASE READ!**

A/N: There it is.

Now, I know that a lot of you were hoping for an in-depth conversation, or some closure between Sirius and Estelle. Perhaps, you wanted a declaration, for her to hear from him that he is her father.

I'm sorry to have disappointed those of you who hoped that!

I wanted them to meet properly, too. But the more that I thought about it, the more I realised that it just wouldn't be logical. She can't go to Grimmaud place, and he can't leave. The only time they could have met was during the battle.

I toyed with the idea of them talking _before_ Sirius joined the fight, but that wasn't right, either. He would always have gone straight to help in that situation. Hopefully, though, the few brief moments they could realistically have shared in all that chaos are alright for you.

Let me know what you think, I'm waiting nervously :P

Also, she will find out that he's her father in the next chapter, which takes place directly after the events of this one. Sneak peek?: 

_"You knew?" I asked quietly, feeling the sting of that hex in my shoulder, drowned out as it was by my sudden realisation of their betrayal. " You knew the whole time that he was my dad- you all knew," Macgonnagal looked down at her hands, and Harry avoided my gaze, only Lupin, a man I'd only talked to a handful of times, a man who'd seemed so familiar to me, met my gaze, "and not one of you told me?"_

__Please keep reading! xxx


	18. Chapter 18

I lived, obviously.

I woke up in the hospital wing. My arm was swathed in bandages, and my head was sore. But I was alive.

The bed I was lying in was in the far corner of the room, slightly away from the rest of the patients, and underneath a huge, bright window, spilling soft evening light into the room. Blinking blearily, I turned my head to look at the rest of the wing. The beds furthest from me were all full, and mostly surrounded by flowers. There was Bushy Hair, dozing peacefully. And Luna, reading a book back to front. And… Umbridge?

I was probably hallucinating. Wearily, I turned my head to look at the other side of my bed.

Lupin was asleep in the chair next to me.

I watched him for a moment. The last time I'd seen him had been in battle- he'd been furious and authoritative and just a tiny bit scary. Now he just looked like a bumbling old professor. His robes were patched at the elbows, and scuffed everywhere else. His hair was the most ridiculous looking scruff I'd ever seen- sticking out in all directions, and still slightly grey with dust from the crumbling stone benches in the room with the archway.

That archway… I blinked as the image of the gaunt man falling back through it flashed before my eyes. I shivered a little. Alright- definitely hallucinating.

Trying to distract myself, I turned back to Lupin. He was sleeping in a way which couldn't have been very good for his neck, with one leg thrown over the chair's armrest, and his head flopping backwards and off to one side.

I couldn't help but smile. How long had he been _there_?

"Hi," I said, and my voice was surprisingly hoarse. He started, looking sleepily around the room until his eyes fixed on me. I waved my bandaged hand cheerfully, until I realised that moving it hurt. I winced and lowered it. "Ow."

He smiled at me, his eyes alight with concern. "Glad to see you're awake," he said, wincing as he untangled himself, returning to normal sitting position. "We were a little worried about you."

I shrugged my uninjured shoulder. "And the others?"

He nodded. "Fine. Miss Granger is a little worse for wear- are you friends with her?" I shook my head and he nodded slowly, "Ginny is fine, also. And Neville…."

"Is that Longbottom's name?" I asked tiredly.

Looking perplexed, he nodded. "Yes- yes it is. Also, Ron Weasley." I nodded, trying to look interested, "he's alright…."

"Yeah, I sort of guessed that they were all alright when you said they were all alright," I said shortly, rubbing my hands over my eyes. My head hurt, and there was a terrible taste in my mouth- I really didn't need to hear their individual medical histories.

He leaned forwards, frowning. "You really don't know any of these people, do you?" he asked, looking thoughtful. "None at all?"

I thought about it. No, not really. But he looked so very earnest that I felt I should be completely honest with him. "Well, I know Luna," I said with a sigh. And then a little smile "And- well, Potter, sort of."

He chuckled. "Sort of," he repeated. "You 'sort of' know James and Lily's son."

What was his problem? "Were you expecting a different answer?" I asked, not caring if I sounded rude. "Oh, we're bosom buddies, and we plait each other's hair and gossip about boys." I levelled him with a disdainful glare. "I only met him this year."

But it didn't look like he'd thought I was rude. Instead, as I'd spoken, a sort of weary smile had appeared on his face. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. He sighed. "No, I know." He said tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "It just seems strange to me, that's all."

He looked so forlorn, so unhappy and tired, that I thought I ought to throw him a bone. "Potter said his parents were friends with my mum- you, too." He looked up, and I smiled, explaining. "He showed me a photo- you, my mum, his parents, and some other guy. By the lake," he still looked confused, and I waved my uninjured hand impatiently. "You know- you were all in uniform, but my mum's was a mess, and she was hugging the other guy- you were off to the side." He was just looking at me blankly, and I was very much regretting having brought this up. He probably thought I was an idiot. "Harry gave it to me." I said, tentatively using his first name. I wasn't exactly in a crowd that would judge me for it. "I have it in my room."

Lupin smiled sadly. "Some other guy?" he asked, a world of sadness in his voice. "Some other guy with dark hair? Good looking?"

I nodded. "That's the one. You know him?" Then I smiled to myself. "Silly question- of _course_ you know him."

His sigh was soft and heartfelt. "I did," he said quietly, looking away from me. "He was a good man. Brave- loyal, though we never gave him enough credit. Enough trust."

The whole situation was rather intolerably awkward. "Well, I'm sure he understands." I said with an encouraging nod. "He looked like a forgiving guy, he probably knew you were sorry." I said, trying to sound sensitive. But I didn't feel it. Clearly, Lupin was a little vague on some of the finer points of sickbed etiquette, like who was meant to be comforting whom in our situation. I was lying in a hospital bed- why would I want to talk about somebody else's messed up relationships?

Lupin nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're probably right." And then he grinned sadly. "And if I _had_ apologised, he would never have let me live it down." His grin turned into a small smile, directed at me. "I think you really would have liked him. You remind me so much of him."

I smiled wryly, "you don't know me," I told him honestly. "This is really our first conversation, if you don't count me tackling you at the station and… and the Ministry." He was still watching me, and I shifted uncomfortably. "I appreciate you trying to bond with me, but please don't presume to think you know who I am."

The look he gave me was coolly appraising and confident. "I do know you, I think." He said simply. "I think I know you quite well."

His certainty irked me. How _dare_ he assume that I was so easy to read? That after just three meetings, he knew who I was? He had no idea, none at all.

But being angry is difficult when you're woozy with drugs, so I just shot him a cold look. "I'm sure you'd like to think so." I said coolly, but then I felt awful. He'd waited by my bedside for me to wake up. He'd been the first person I'd seen- not Draco, or Jess, or Carmeline or Blaise. _Him_. He was the one who'd waited for me. So, I cleared my throat, and shot him a quick, small smile. "How long have I been asleep, then?"

He shrugged and sighed, shifting his weight. "Just a day or so. We'd have sent you to St Mungo's, but you were rather insistent that you stayed away from hospitals."

There was an unspoken query in his voice. "My mum didn't like hospitals," I told him simply. "Neither do I."

His nod was understanding, and oddly sad. "I heard she wouldn't even see Muggle doctors."

I shrugged tiredly. "She didn't want to live," I told him flatly. I'd never voiced that to anybody before now. A part of me was screaming in protest at me voicing it _now_. It had to have been the exhaustion or the medication. "I was only little, but I could tell. She wanted death, which sucked for me." I looked away from him. I wasn't crying, but the compassion in his eyes was a weight on me. Almost as much as the pain I could see in them- as though he shared my suffering.

And then, his hand was on my arm. "Oh, Estelle." He murmured. "You know that she loved you very much."

"I do not," I said pointedly. "I know no such thing- and neither do you."

"Yes I do." He said, moving to my side and looking into my eyes. "She _kept_ you, Estelle. She wanted you very, very much, and I know it because you are here." He sounded so serious, so sure. "Lee- well, she never did anything unless she was 100% sure that she wanted to, for whatever reason. And she would never have had a child she didn't really want, because she'd seen firsthand what happened with that. She _loved_ you enough to give up the best parts of her life in the hope that you'd be happy."

The speech struck a chord within me. And I felt it- what I hadn't felt in so long it was like a myth, a legend. The need for people- the _real_ need for connection.

I didn't trust people, I never had. This Lupin somehow knew that, it was written on his face. And yet he tried, because he wanted to help me, and somehow it was working. I knew it, because inside me, I wanted to trust him. I wanted to be held like a child and sob, because everything had gone so wrong in my life.

This was Harry's fault.

I'd been perfectly self-sufficient, so contained, before he came along and made me want _real_ affection, complete love.

Family.

"Lupin," I said quietly, "I…"

"You're awake!" I jumped, inelegantly banging my head against the bedframe. Out of nowhere, Harry had appeared, and was standing awkwardly at the foot of my bed, holding a box of chocolate frogs and looking as tired and drawn as I felt. "Good. That's really good."

Lupin shot him an affectionate grin. "Harry. Have you come to visit, then?"

He nodded. "She was a great help- at the ministry." Then his jaw tightened, and his eyes grew sad. "And it was good she was there, you know, for _it_."

Lupin gave a very serious nod, and I felt myself smile. "You're like a general, visiting his troops after a battle."

My flippancy was less than appreciated. Harry's jaw tightened even more. "This_ is_ a battle," he said. "Don't you know that?"

I blinked, hurt. And then it occurred to me- Harry had lost somebody recently. I remembered when my mum died, and felt a blaze of the old pain run through me, white hot. "Hey, are you alright?" There was a tense pause, and I had yet another chance to reflect on just how bad I was at comforting people. "I mean, I know that that man was your friend... or something."

He blinked quickly, then looked sharply away, "Professor Macgonnagal is here to see you," he said quietly.

Ah, so the time had come for me to be disciplined. Or maybe comforted. Or debriefed? There could be a million reasons why a Professor would be waiting to talk to me. But there were very few reasons why that Professor should be my Transfiguration teacher.

"Not Snape?" I asked liltingly, wondering where my own head of house was. Why wasn't _he_ the one to speak to me, to spend time with me…. Oh. Well, suddenly it made more sense. "but of course not." Lupin was watching my aloofness with something akin to reminiscence. "Well." I sighed, patting my hands down on the covers. "We must be grateful for small mercies."

Harry's answering smile was so fleeting that it almost looked like an involuntary twitch. His solemnity was beginning to grate on me- where was his warmth? I missed that. But at the same time, part of me empathised. Death was a bitch- it's difficult to know how to act after you come face to face with it. And if you believe the rumours, Harry had faced it more often than most.

"I'm not interrupting, I trust?" Somebody asked in a clipped tone. I recognised that voice.

"I'm sorry." I said instinctively. "I'll hand up my essays tomorrow."

Professor Macgonnagal hobbled over to my bed, but instead of chastising me, she gave me a surprisingly gentle smile. "Miss Dahlquist," she said kindly. "Are you quite recovered?"

I couldn't help but smile wryly at that. "Shouldn't we be asking _you_ that?" I asked, nodding at the cane she was using to walk. She looked less than impressed, but after all, it had only been two days since her own little skirmish. I shrugged my uninjured shoulder, sighing and answering her question. "That is a question for madam Pomfrey, Professor," I said with another smile. "But I feel fine. Well enough to return home, perhaps?"

Her kind smile faltered a little, but she nodded briskly. "I'm sure you're quite fine." She said after a short pause. "You seem to have the constitution of an ox - young people usually do." She sniffed a little, and I couldn't help but at her little surge of bitterness. "But I'm afraid, Dahlquist, that before you consider leaving, there are certain issues that we must discuss."

I nodded, confused. "Of course." I said, shooting her a charming smile. "Is this about my leaving school? I should have asked permission, of course, but I thought that time was of the essence…"

"Naturally, we _do_ encourage students to _notify_ teachers in such situations," Macgonnagal said, and then frowned, as though reining herself back. Of course, a sick bed was not the place for a rant on propriety and school rules. "But as it happens, that is _not_ what I am here to discuss." She sighed, and one hand fluttered about vaguely in Harry's direction. I raised my eyebrows- I'd never thought I'd see the day when Macgonnagal _fluttered_. She must've been hurt badly. "Perhaps- Potter, if you could give us a wee bit of privacy…"

Nodding, Harry turned to leave, but I raised a hand, "I don't mind if Harry hears," I said honestly, surprising even myself. "He can stay." Macgonnagal looked sceptical, so I sighed. "In any case, I don't see why you'd want _him_ to leave and Lupin to stay." Next to me, Lupin shifted, as though uncomfortable, and I felt a sudden stab of guilt for implying he was an outsider. Completely irrational, but I made to correct it. "Not that I want Lupin to leave," I said carefully, trying to think of a noncommittal reason for being comfortable with his presence. Something I could say to encompass that I trusted him, even after so short an acquaintance, and felt he ought to be party to the conversation. "I quite like him."

Whatever. That was good enough, or at least, Lupin seemed pleased. His smile was sad, but radiant. It was as though he'd been hoping that I would say that, or feel that way. I returned his smile reservedly.

Macgonnagal inclined her head. "Very well," she said tightly as Harry moved to stand by my side, one hand resting on my bed frame. "Miss Dahlquist, I do not like to _assume_ things." She said, aloofly. "And that is why I am _asking_ you this, not stating it." She sighed. "Were you aware that, at the battle at the Ministry, in which you were involved…"

"I remember." I drawled, pointing to my bandaged arm.

Macgonnagal's lips tightened a little, but then she sighed sadly. "Quite." She said. "But I must ask- were you aware that one of the Death Eaters involved in that… situation… was in fact your guardian, Lucius Malfoy?"

I closed my eyes tiredly, pressing them shut as I remembered. "It's difficult-" I said haltingly, the image of Lucius waving goodbye as Draco and I caught the train seemed to clash so horribly with the image of him, furious with blood lust, his wand jammed into Harry's chest. I could hardly deny it, even though my every instinct _was_ to deny it all, to protect him. I glanced up at her, forcing my face into an expression of uncertainty, of thoughtfulness. "I can't say for sure…" I lied quite convincingly. "Perhaps not…"

"He's been captured." Harry interrupted harshly. "You don't need to lie for him."

_And I don't know why you would_, was the unspoken end to his statement.

I glanced up at him, my eyes dark. He didn't understand. But how could he? He hadn't seen anything of Lucius past that animal in battle, and after all, Lucius loathed him, too. In any case, I was grateful to him for telling me- it would save a lot of messing around.

My voice lost its confused quality, and returned to its usual sharp tone. "Does Draco know?" I asked Macgonnagal, not bothering to deny Harry's accusation, or attempting to in any way conceal my previous intentions. They shouldn't have been surprised, not really. I _am_ a Slytherin. "No, of course he does."

She nodded, looking at me askance. Lupin, too, looked a little wary. It was as though my loyalty to my foster father was bad in their eyes, something unexpected and shameful. "Professor Snape informed him earlier today."

I nodded, rubbing at my eyes. "I'll have to talk to him." I said to myself in French. Then I glanced up at everybody. "_Allors_, what is the outcome of Lucius'… participation?" As always, I sounded much more French in my discomfort.

My careful and non-committal choice of words did not go unnoticed. Macgonnagal and Lupin exchanged significant looks, and Harry sighed.

"He was captured and is in custody," Macgonnagal said, and I was surprised to hear that same kindness in her voice. "He will be put to trial next week, I believe." My heart raced- nothing had been decided yet, then. Macgonnagal must've guessed my thoughts, because she frowned a little. "You are not an adult, Dahlquist, but I feel that you are old enough not to be lied to." I looked up at her expectantly. "It is unrealistic to assume he has any chance of acquittal. He will be sent to Azkaban for a lengthy sentence."

Of course. Really, I should have known that.

"Narcissa Malfoy has of course been notified." Macgonnagal continued. "And…"

"Does she want me to find someplace else to live?" I asked calmly, cutting her off. I felt amazingly tranquil, just as I had in the midst of battle. The emotion had been sucked out of the situation, and I was dealing only with logistics. Macgonnagal blinked, surprised.

"Why should she want that?"

I smiled to myself, tilting my head backwards. "I _was_ fighting on the other side, when Uncle Lucius was… well." I looked at them out of the corner of my eye. "It would make for some tense family dinners." Everybody looked a little shocked. I smiled to reassure them. "Really, I understand. But I'd need to be given some notice, so I can per'aps try and work something out for myself…"

"She is your family," this, oddly, from Lupin, and spoken with certainty. "She will want you home with her, especially in such a troubled time." Macgonnagal nodded her agreement. But Harry- Harry looked furious. The look he shot at Lupin was full of outrage and betrayal, as though he didn't _want_ Lupin to encourage me to go back to the Malfoys.

But at that moment, though I was curious, I didn't care.

"Alright," The relief I felt was so strange, so unexpected that I had to take a deep breath. Controlling myself as well as I could, I glanced up at Macgonnagal. "So that was one issue? Were there more?"

"Yes." Macgonnagal looked, to my surprise, to Lupin. "Remus…?" She prompted vaguely, and he looked mildly surprised.

"You want me to…?" He asked.

I looked from one to the other, slightly amused, despite everything. "Did you want some time to discuss?" I asked. "If it's important, I mean."

"It would be best, I feel, coming from you." Macgonnagal said, ignoring me completely.

And then, to my surprise, Harry stepped forwards. "I think you're wrong." He said, and I was amazingly entertained. It was like a play or something. But Harry looked entirely serious. "I think I should be the one- it's my responsibility."

Her nostrils flared in shock, "Potter? You do not even know of what we were about to speak."

He shook his head. "No, I do actually," he said quietly, "last holidays at Grimmaud Place- I found this manuscript…. Anyway. I know. And I think it should be me." She looked at him for a long moment, and he straightened his back and lifted his chin, trying to look strong. "I know what to say." He said finally. "Please."

She shot me a quick look, evaluating my emotional state, I guess, before nodding slowly, almost as though she was already regretting it. "Myself and Remus shall remain where we are."

He nodded. "Thank you." He said, and it sounded very heartfelt. I blinked, still amused.

"Are you all sorted now?" I asked, and realised then that I wasn't only amused- I was a little annoyed. How come everybody knew whatever this was, and I didn't? I wanted them to hurry up and tell me so that they could all leave and I could scoff the chocolate frogs that Harry had brought in peace.

Harry gave a light sigh and pulled a chair over to my bed, smiling tiredly at me. "Hi." He said simply.

Wary, I narrowed my eyes at him. "Hello."

There was a moment of silence as everybody tried to work out where they stood, and where this was going.

"Do you remember that photo?" Harry asked suddenly, leaning forwards and playing with the cover of my bed. "That photo I showed you? Of your mum?"

I nodded, at a loss. "I haven't forgotten it." I said wryly. "I have a copy in my room."

Harry smiled again. "Right. Did you remember that guy? The one in the photo?"

I blinked. There were three guys in that photo. "Lupin." I said, nodding towards him, but Harry bit his lip. I tried again. "Do you mean your father?"

"No, I-" He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "This is hard." He shot a look at Lupin, who nodded encouragingly, and then he seemed to steel himself. "I mean the other one. Dark hair- when you saw him, you said 'nicely done, mum'."

I smiled at him. "The good looking one." I nodded again, "yes. I remember. And you said he was 'nobody'." Harry winced a little, and I felt the beginnings of trepidation deep in my stomach. Slowly, I looked around the room at them all. "What is this about?" I asked suspiciously.

"That's your dad." Harry said in a rush. "That was why I showed you the photo- because he's your dad."

I paused, caught in the moment, hearing those words over and over again. My father. My dad. The man I'd wondered about all my life, the man I'd dreamed of.

_That was so tactless_, a voice said amusedly, somewhere in my head. _As if he just blurted that out_!

I looked away from Harry for a moment, trying to remember that man exactly from the photo. I hadn't looked closely enough, I realised that now. Though I tried hard, all I could picture was the dark hair, the lazy grin. I didn't look like him, I thought distantly. I looked nothing like him. Nothing. Not a thing. It was as though my mum's decision to take me away from him had extended to my genes - like he'd been scoured from my blood, because there was truly not a mark of him on me.

Perhaps I should have been more upset, or emotional, but I still felt all numb from before. And then the shock left a little, and the haze in my head cleared. My logical instincts kicked in then, taking the reins.

"My- dad?" I asked, tasting the sound of it on my mouth. "Why… how could you know that?"

It was Lupin who answered, "I was friends with them at school- your parents," he told me gently, "perhaps Lee implied that he was a one night stand, that there was little between them….."

"No." I said firmly. "No, she always said she loved him. He caused her more pain than anybody else, but she never stopped loving him- I could tell from the way she looked when she cried about him… She missed him." Lupin closed his eyes and nodded.

"Of course. I should never have implied that Lee would ever….She'd never…. In any case, your father and her were in love – always." I forced myself to focus on what he was saying, but it made no sense. "When you arrived, everybody knew who your parents were."

"Arrived…." I frowned. "When I was born?"

Macgonnagal stepped forwards, looking at me with those sad eyes. "When you came to England. Before that, Dahlquist, hardly anybody knew about you."

A large part of me wanted to discount everything they were saying. My father was a nobody, and nobody knew who he was. Just some man that my mother had let slip through her fingers, just somebody who hadn't cared enough to stick around, somebody who hadn't fought for her after she left. He was nobody, and I didn't need to know more than that. It was only logical.

But I _wanted_ to. Oh, how I wanted to know more. Even though I could already tell that it would hurt. "So- you knew my father?" I asked, trying to wade through the knowledge I'd been presented with. Nobody said anything. "He- you were friends? _They_ were friends." I frowned, thinking back to the photo- _Maman_ laughing, him waggling his eyebrows. They were so young, so carefree. "What- what is his name?" I hadn't even realised that I was talking, but suddenly the hope inside me was too much to contain. After all these years- I would finally meet him! The man to whom _Maman's_ heart had belonged, the man who helped make me. And what's more, he would be handsome, and their story was one of young love. And he was friends with sweet old Lupin… Everything I knew about him sounded like a fairytale. I couldn't help but laugh, just a little. "What is he like? Is he coming here, then?" I considered. "Does he know _I'm_ here?"

"Estelle," Harry again, his voice thick. "He was- a great man. Really. Brave and loyal. And clever, too. But, here's the thing, Estelle….."

"You said 'was'," I said, picking it up quickly, and suddenly the hope inside me sputtered and died. There was a moment of tense silence, and I felt a bubble of panic in my throat. "'Was' as in past tense- why are you speaking in past tense?"

"Do you remember the man from the ministry of magic?" Harry asked, ignoring my question completely. "The one who saved you?"

I was beginning to get angry now. "You keep changing the _subject_!" I snapped at him, scared now- what did they mean '_was'_? "You keep- Harry, you can't say something like that and then start talking about something else like it's nothing!"

He shook his head. "I'm _sorry_." He said. "Estelle, I'm sorry- but the man from the Ministry…"

I dug my nails into the palms of my hands. "I don't want to talk about him." I hissed, feeling my heart beat speed up with worry. It couldn't be '_was_', no, they'd just told me who he was, he couldn't really be dead. "I don't care about him. I'm sorry he died, Harry, but I want to talk about my _father_."

"We _are_!" Harry shouted.

The silence that followed was intense. Nobody spoke- they were all shocked, and I was thinking too quickly to remember how to. How to speak, I mean. And what would I say? What _could_ I say? "Potter-" Macgonnagal began, clearly unhappy with the way things were progressing.

"What you're saying." I said haltingly, feeling rage ebb and flow within me. "What you're saying…"

"His name was Sirius Black." Harry said, his voice brimming with emotion. "The boy in the photo- the man from the Ministry."

I couldn't think straight- nothing they were saying was sinking in properly, but I recognised that name. "The murderer?" I asked, and to my horror, I could feel tears building up behind my eyes. "The death eater?"

"Those were lies!" Harry insisted. He sighed, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. "Merlin, I'm doing this all wrong." He looked up at me, eyes intense. "Look, I can explain that- I can."

I remembered his face- the gaunt man. Hollow, drawn. The black hair, the cheekbones. The jaw. The eyes. Grey eyes.

Nothing like that handsome, laughing boy. Nothing like my father. Nothing like me…

"I have grey eyes." I said, interrupting whatever Harry had just said. "He did, too- didn't he?" My brain whirled, and I heard my voice as though from a great distance. "I didn't have long to notice…"

"Yeah, he did." This from Lupin. "Grey eyes. Yours are the same."

I nodded. Then there was that. Suddenly, and from nowhere, I heard Jess' voice resounding through my head. '_All the Blacks are supposed to have grey eyes_'. I remembered Bellatrix cooing _'Look at those eyes'_, and suddenly everything seemed to slot into place. I hated myself bitterly at that moment- I should have known, should have guessed, should have seen or suspected or _something_. At the same time, something else occurred to me. As I looked back over at Harry, I remembered a moment, months and months ago. I remembered a collision in the hallway. I remembered an earnest idiot blurting out _'hey, I meant to ask- who's your father?_'. And I realised something beyond my own blindness- somebody should have _told_ me. "You've known this for a while- that he was my father." I asked haltingly.

"Yeah," Harry said, sounding, if anything, relieved. As though the fact that I was speaking to him was as good a sign as he'd hoped for. "Yeah, I found this, well, I'll show you later, actually….."

"But you didn't tell me?"

"What?"

"Miss Dahlquist," Macgonnagal cut in, clearly wrestling to get the conversation back under control. "I want you to know that your father really cared quite a lot for you." She sighed. "In these last few months… Well. He was a wonderful man, and all of us feel his death quite strongly, and….."

"You _knew_?" I cut her off, feeling the sting of that hex in my shoulder, drowned out as it was by my sudden realisation of their betrayal. " You knew the whole time that he was my dad- you all knew," Macgonnagal looked down at her hands, and Harry avoided my gaze, only Lupin, a man I'd only talked to a handful of times, a man who'd seemed so familiar to me, met my eyes, "and not one of you told me?"

"Estelle…."

"You knew where he was?" I demanded. "You had access to him?" My gaze swung around to Lupin, who leaned back, looking ashamed.

"Sirius Black was notorious as a convicted _murderer_." Macgonnagal said, and her previously kind tone was tempered by severity. She wasn't one to stand for nonsense. "It was not as though he lived around the corner and you could drop in for tea- he was a fugitive."

I tore my eyes from Lupin, turning back to her. "But you knew where he was." I said firmly. Still, I was calm, but I could feel my temper bubbling up inside of me. This numbness couldn't last for long. "And you talked to him. And Harry saw him a lot." I couldn't stop- the accusations just kept flowing. I'd always been one to point the finger of blame, but this time it was different. This time, the accusations were true. "And you _knew_ he was my father- and that I didn't even know his name. And yet you didn't think to let me know, to maybe introduce us." Now, I looked to Harry, remembering hands touching, me sharing things I'd never shared. "It isn't as though I'd turn in my father," the word tasted strange on my tongue, "but you didn't tell me."

I had addressed Harry, but he said nothing, just met my gaze stolidly. Absently, I looked over at Luna, happily folding the pages of her book into intricate shapes. So happy. How could she be so happy, when my life was swirling round and round too fast to process, just metres away.

They hadn't told me. Hadn't hinted. They didn't have to introduce me, but they couldn't let me know? The list of people who'd deceived me was expanding in my mind. Narcissa was his cousin- so was Bellatrix, and she'd killed him. Lucius had lied. Draco- even Draco had lied. Did the others know? The other Slytherins? Did Harry's friends? Snape knew- he must have. Dumbledore… people who had nothing to do with my life all had known. And some had even had contact with him.

But somehow, I hadn't deserved that?

Somewhere along the line, all of these people had decided that it wasn't _necessary_? That it wasn't _appropriate_?

"It was a difficult situation…" Macgonnagal began, her voice slicing through the haze of my confusion, my numbness. She hadn't even said anything at all, really, but somehow everything was thrown into clear relief, and the enormity of what they'd done stunned me.

"Bullshit." I snapped, my temper fraying finally, with every memory of longing, of want, of need. With every memory of every dream that one day, my father would come to get me, to take me away. With every memory of his face- _'you stay down, you hear me'_ his words, his eyes. "Bullshit. You're all just selfish." Suddenly, I didn't want to see any of them. "Get out." I snarled, tossing my head and looking for something to throw at them. Where was my wand? "Just- get out, go someplace else, I don't want you here."

Still, they didn't move, but I suppose that I shouldn't have been surprised- they'd demonstrated that they didn't care about my needs.

"Estelle," Harry began, "just, _please_ try and understand…."

"You're the worst of them," I whispered, and he flinched. "The worst." Slowly, I looked up, daring him to meet my gaze. Eventually, he did, and his eyes were full of pain. That only made me angrier- this was _my_ pain, _my_ suffering. And he'd helped inflict it. So how _dare_ he look upset? "You know what it's like to be an orphan- to not know your parents, and you could have spared me from that. But you didn't." My voice was cracking, I knew, but I didn't care. "You just couldn't bring yourself to share with me, could you?"

"No," Harry's- no, Potter's- voice was breaking a little too. "No that's not it, I…."

"No, that _is_ it," I snapped. "That is it exactly!" I felt something inside me crumple, and I closed my eyes. "That is it exactly," I repeated, "and I don't want to hear anything more from you- any attempts to pretend like what you did was _right_. It wasn't. Not at all."

"Estelle…." It was Lupin this time. Nice, reliable Lupin. Lupin who'd stopped me killing myself at the Ministry. Lupin who'd waited by my bed until I woke up.

Lupin who'd been friends with my parents.

Who'd always known who I was- more than I had. And who hadn't thought to share that with me. _I know you_, he'd told me.

If he knew me, then he knew that I didn't need to be protected, and that I'd want to know. Which meant that he didn't tell me because he didn't give a shit.

"Get away from me." I said, calmly now. He looked taken aback. "Who are you to sit there?" I asked, meeting his gaze coolly, "who are you to _pretend_ that you care at all?"

He frowned, "Estelle, I understand that this must be hard for you," he began, "but you have to understand- I _do_ care." I laughed, cutting him off.

I laughed humourlessly, tossing my head back and closing my eyes. And then, when I was finished, I met his eyes. "You understand _nothing_." I said bitterly. "And if you _really_ cared, then it would be my father sitting in that chair, waiting to see if I was alright. Not. You."

"Estelle…" Potter again.

I couldn't stand the sight of him. After all he'd done- encouraging me to talk to him, making me _trust_ him, care for him! And all the while, laughing behind my back, spending his holidays with _my_ father. I was just some little curiosity for him, something to toy with, something vaguely of interest that he could mess around. He made me sick to my stomach.

"Get _out_ of here, Potter." I hissed, my voice full of venom. "Get out all of you!" Macgonnagal frowned, and Lupin shook his head sadly. Potter just looked upset. But not one of them _actually_ moved. So I did. Wincing at the pain in my shoulder, I swung my legs out of bed and got unsteadily to my feet.

"Estelle!" Lupin cried, shocked, "you're injured…."

I flipped him off and limped somewhat inelegantly in the direction of the door. "The time has passed when you could make decisions about _me_, and dictate the way _I_ live." I told him with a vicious little smile. "I have _some_ control left." I snapped. "You won't leave, so I bloody well will."

My arm hurt like hell, which seemed excessive seeing as I was only walking, not lifting weights or anything. But I still kept my head held high, as though I was strolling down the corridor looking beautiful, instead of stumbling like a drunk and wearing a hospital robe which seemed a little gapey at the back.

"Bloody hell!" Lupin swore, and Macgonnagal raised her eyebrows in surprise, clearly taken aback. "Sorry, Minerva." He apologised quickly, stepping around the bed to steady me. I hadn't gotten particularly far. "Estelle, get back in the bed."

Oh, yes. That's right. Take on the role of authority figure in an effort to get me to do what you want. That's it- boss me around, because I respond really well to being treated like a dog. He clearly knew me _so_ well

I spat at him. "_Va te faire foutre_!"

"Miss Dahlquist!" Macgonnogal snapped, scandalised back into angry teacher mode. "Language! You're lucky Professor Snape didn't hear that- he's suspended students for less!"

I rolled my eyes, wincing at the sharp pain in my arm. "Oh, I'm sure he won't find out." I said through gritted teeth. "You're all _so_ good at keeping secrets- _don't touch me_!"

Ignoring me, Lupin pulled me back onto the bed. I hated being manhandled, so I punched him in the face. I have a good left hook, but it was weak then- and the movement sent jolts of pain up and down my shoulder.

But the pain was overridden by the angry joy I felt at fighting back, fighting back against the people who had so casually turned my life on its head.

Lupin, who'd somehow made me open up to him, trust him.

Harry, who'd managed to make me turn against my own family in my drive to keep him safe, to protect him. I'd risked everything for Harry, and he was a liar.

I wanted to throttle them both.

"Jesus, Estelle!" Potter muttered, clearly uncomfortable as I kicked out at Lupin.

"Get off! Get off! You're _hurting_ me! _Salaud_! _Je t'emmerde_!" I felt a satisfied thrill in my stomach as my foot connected solidly with his thigh, and he winced in pain.

"What on _earth_ is going on in here?"

Madam Pomfrey swept into the room, and, thinking quickly on my feet, I put on my best pained face. If I couldn't get them to leave by guilt or brute force, it was time that I brought in the troops. And there was no better way to get a nurse on your side than to play the victim. I winced dramatically as though in pain.

"_Madame_!" I said weakly, letting my head loll back just a little. "Please, make them leave me alone!"

Pursing his lips, Lupin stopped trying to push me back onto the bed and stepped back. Well. At least he caught on quickly. _But then_, a voice whispered inside my head, _he knew both your parents- of course he knows your tricks._ I bit back tears. At least _somebody_ knew both my parents. The resentment was choking me. Running a hand through his hair, Lupin turned to me. "Listen, Estelle. I know you're angry..."

"You know _nothing_ about me." I snapped at him. "And I hope you never do." I looked to Madam Pomfrey, wondering if she'd noticed the _slight_ break in my victim persona. "Where's Draco? I'd like to see him." In direct contrast with my spurt of anger, I made my voice breathy and soft. _Very_ pitiful. It just screamed 'please, protect me!'

"He was here not two hours ago, dear." Pomfrey said kindly, before looking back at Macgonnagal and Lupin and Harry, tight lipped.

Macgonnagal seemed to sense what was coming. "I'm leaving, Poppy." She said straight away. "But let Remus stay – he needs to explain to Dahlquist… It's best she understands."

"It's _best_ that my patients are calm." Madam Pomfrey said sternly. I could have kissed her. "And your presence is clearly not calming Miss Dahlquist, is it?"

Now that she had her back turned, I was at liberty to grin evilly and shake my head at Lupin, Harry and Macgonnagal. No, no it wasn't.

Lupin made a defeated face and shrugged. "Just- _try_ and make sure she rests, could you, Poppy?"

They all began to leave while Madam Pomfrey fussed over my blankets. But as they walked through the door, I heard Macgonnagal's voice carrying back through to me.

"There- you see now what we had to deal with when Aurelie was at school here? You boys all thought she was _so_ charming, but when she was in a fury…"

I pressed my eyes shut and tried not to cry.

An orphan.

I'd always thought I'd meet my father someday. Just not so briefly.

As I lay there, wallowing in self-pity, somebody smoothed my hair back from my head. "You, my girl, have an impressive capacity for histrionics. And the mouth of a sailor." I opened my eyes, and Madam Pomfrey smiled at me. "Just rest, please." She said, moving away. "I won't bother telling you that you _must_ lie down- Merlin knows you're just like your father, and he never did anything he was told."

Perhaps she meant to comfort me, but all she did was add salt to the wound. Everybody had known who he was. Everybody but me.

I closed my eyes again.

"She's right, you know." Somebody said. "You _are_ just like him." I sat bolt upright, looking around, but there was nobody nearby. Luna was still reading by the door- she hadn't even looked up during my fit, and Bushy Hair was sleeping like a baby. Or a snoring baby, anyway. It couldn't have been either of them.

Just as I established that, the air by my bed rippled, and Harry appeared, looking shamefaced and clutching a silvery cloak.

"I know you don't want to talk to me," he said quickly, and I felt my hands curling into fists, "but just listen, would you?"

"Get out." I snapped, "I've already told you- get _out_!"

"No." he stayed where he was, some distance from me, "no, I won't, because you need to hear this-"

Why did nobody listen to me? Why did what I wanted matter so little to them all? Was it because I was a Slytherin? Because I was Draco's cousin? Blaise's friend? Harry would never have been treated like this, not in a million years.

Did the Boy-Who-Lived have the right to ignore what I wanted?

"I don't want to hear _anything_ that you say- now or ever," I spat at him, "you sure as hell weren't talking when I needed you to be- why start now?"

"You made him happy!" Harry shouted over the top of me, and I paused. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. My eyes narrowed, and I reined in my anger, just for the moment. Harry seemed to sense that he didn't have long, because he began to speak very quickly. "I'm glad you were there- when- when it happened, because he needed to see you, and to know you were-"

"How could that have made him happy?" I demanded, my anger rising unbidden at this latest load of nonsense- was this his attempt to comfort me? What was I, a child? "He didn't know it was me, didn't know what I was like…."

"He knew it was you," Harry said quietly, "I read the words he wrote- I _read_ them. And they all said that he knew you would be beautiful. He _knew_ you'd be smart, and witty and- and charming." I was blushing despite myself, despite my anger. "What he didn't know- the thought that tortured him- was if you'd be _good_. Because you were raised by a family whose morals he despised, and he was so scared you'd be like them."

I could feel myself starting to cry. I bit back my tears- I wouldn't seem weak in front of him.

He continued. "He was always going to die today," he said shakily, "but because you came, you came to _help_ us, he died happy- knowing that your conscience was as strong as his, knowing you could break free of the prejudices you were raised with. And that was all he wanted to know."

I had a choice. I could give in to my every impulse- I could let the tears flow, let Harry put his arms around my and hold me tightly. I could ask questions, I could try and hear what Harry had to say about the man who'd been my father. I could allow this friendship to grow from this- I could allow this loss to bind us together.

But I couldn't. I'd given up too much of my pride in front of this boy. I'd bared too much of my soul. And falling into his arms? That wasn't the way my story would ever end.

He had betrayed me. I wasn't going to open up to him ever again.

"Are you done?" I asked quietly. "Because I've heard enough crap from you."

Harry winced like I'd punched him, and more than anything I wanted to put a hand on his arm and hear him describe my father. "Estelle…."

But I _wouldn't_. I wouldn't be that person again. I wouldn't let myself. And so I knew what I had to do. It had been clear from the beginning, but I hadn't wanted to go so far.

_Do it_, I felt a voice inside me urging me forwards. _Hurt him, he hurt you! Make him leave_!

"And I don't know what you mean when you say he was _always_ going to die today." I said coldly, and Harry paused, meeting my gaze tentatively. "So far as I could tell, the only reason he died was because _you_ decided to play the hero!"

Harry stiffened a little. "That isn't true." He said shortly. "It isn't true at all- you're just trying to upset me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why would I bother with that, Potter?" I drawled, letting my head flop back on the pillow. "You Gryffindors have those unshakeable 'consciences'. Why should I bother making _you_ feel bad when you're probably already putting yourself through hell?" He was silent, and I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling and willing myself to cry. "Which is only _fair_, Potter." I said softly. "Seeing as you just caused the death of yet _another_ father figure."

The following silence was long and… silent. Really, quieter than anything I'd ever experienced. But after a while, Harry broke it. "You want me to leave?" He asked softly. "Fine. I will leave." I could hear the chair squeak as he pushed it back and stood up. "But don't think for a _second_ that I don't know what you're up to."

"I doubt I'll be thinking anything like that." I said calmly. "Probably I'll be thinking about the man who, thanks to you, I'll never ever know."

…

I woke up to the sound of light snoring in the chair beside the bed. Feeling anger surge up in me, I turned my head to the side. "Lupin, I _told_ you…"

My voice died before I could finish my sentence. There, asleep in a position which looked far from comfortable, was Draco. The moonlight shining through the window had turned his hair practically silver, and even asleep, his face looked tired and wan. He seemed much older than his years, until I noticed the way that he was curled up on the chair. That made him look like a child.

I wondered whether or not I should wake him, let him know that I was fine, that he could leave.

But I didn't want to. Something stopped me from calling out to him, from jabbing a finger into his arm or scaring him awake. It was guilt, I realised with a start. I didn't want to see the accusation in his eyes- I didn't want to hate myself more than I already did because of how much I'd hurt him. It was ridiculous. He was asleep, and still I could feel the strain placed on our friendship.

With a frustrated sigh, I threw my head back down on the pillow, but, for the millionth time I missed, whacking it against the bedframe. "_Merde_!"

"Estelle." Draco was at my side in a moment, looking concerned and bleary.

Upon seeing me sheepishly place a hand to my head, he made a disgruntled noise and sat himself back down.

Neither of us said anything for a long while.

Finally, hesitantly, Draco said, "how do you feel?"

I couldn't meet his eyes. "Alright." I said. "I think I'll be fine to leave tomorrow- my arm feels much, much better."

Another long, awful pause. "Well, you look terrible." Draco ventured.

I think he was trying to seem flippant, to lighten the situation, but I still felt as though everything was very heavy. I didn't shrug, or smile, or laugh. Instead I sighed. "I've had some big news." I said carefully, wincing at how thick my accent sounded.

Draco said nothing, and so I continued. "I- it seems…." I squeezed my eyes shut, frustrated. I never had trouble getting words out normally. Normally, I couldn't get them to stop. I hissed through my teeth. "My f-father is dead." I said finally, simply.

And then I waited. I didn't really need to say much more than that. After all, I already knew that Draco had known the truth all along. Those four words communicated everything- that I knew who my father was, that I knew the Malfoys had all lied, that Harry and I weren't on good terms…..

And so I waited- waited for Draco to make the same pathetic excuses that Harry had, without ever simply apologising for everything, for lying to me. Without simply admitting that what they'd done had been wrong and cruel. That was all I needed just then.

I wouldn't get that from proud Draco Malfoy. I was sure of it.

But, as always, I'd been too quick to judge.

Draco shifted a little in his seat and sighed, smoothing his hair down. "I'm sorry." He said, point blanc, and I looked to him in surprise. He met my eyes uncomfortably. "No, I'm not sorry for not telling you, but I am sorry that you didn't get to know him."

Suddenly, I forgot everything. Forgot that Draco was probably hurting, too. Forgot that I'd betrayed him. Only _my _pain mattered. "How _could_ you?" I asked softly. "How could you lie to me like that?"

Draco frowned sharply. "We were going to tell you." He said almost irritably. "_Eventually_. Father said that Sirius Black was a menace, and that until we were sure that you were secure in your upbringing, we should keep his identity from you."

I knew I was starting to cry. I bit down hard on my tongue to try and distract myself. "A menace?"

Draco nodded. "He was- a bad role model. He left his family, he… Estelle, do we _have_ to talk about this?" I looked up at him, confused, only to see that he was crying, too. Not weeping outwardly- that would have been ridiculous. And besides, crying wasn't something that came easily to Malfoys. But his eyes were glittering in the moonlight, and he was holding his head so straight that I thought he might snap it off. He sighed, viciously rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. "Look, this entire situation- all of it- is horrible. You _left_ me there and went after _Potter_, even though I'm the one who has always been there for you." His voice had become considerably less authoritative and considerably _more_ hurt. "You betrayed us, Estelle, and you _know_ that." I felt the pit of guilt in my stomach writhe a little. But then he looked away. "But all that matters right now, is that- one way or another- we both lost our fathers last night."

My smile was small and bitter. "Is that really _all_ that matters?" I asked angrily.

In a second, he was standing by my side. I looked up at him, and he gave my hand an awkward pat. "It's all that matters for _now_." He said softly. And then, the Malfoy in him rebelling against this display of affection, he sniffed and returned to his seat.

He stayed there all night, neither of us sleeping, neither of us talking. Just thinking and being together.

xxxxxxx

A/N: a huge thank you to everybody who reviewed- **The Agent of Fire**, **Catching Rayne**, **myh****oneyclaire**, **Katie**, **BlackCatFullMoon**, **Allie** and **andiescandieee**. As always, you motivate me!

Which is why the next update should be up in just a couple of days.

I'm glad that you all were all right with me not keeping Sirius alive - I hope you're as understanding of just how aggro Estelle is in this chapter. There are still a few days left til the end of the year though- bear with me.

Review, guys. let me know what you think of her reaction. Reasonable? Or is she being childish?  
>Oh, and just so you know- Dumbledore is in the next chapter.<p>

xxx


	19. Chapter 19

I left the hospital wing early the next morning.

I felt fine, so I didn't really see the point in getting the 'ok' from Pomfrey, and I knew that it was best that I got out of there as quickly as possible.

Lupin and Harry had left me alone yesterday, honouring my request like good little Gryffindors. But I doubted that that would last for two days. I knew instinctively that they'd be back for another 'deep and meaningful' as soon as they thought it was likely that I'd be awake.

Which was why, at five in the morning, I snuck out. I had to use the window, because Pomfrey sleeps near the door to keep watch, but the roof slope s out under the Hospital Wing, so it was an easy climb down to the next floor. After that, I just slipped through one of the unglassed windows, landing as gracefully as I could on the floor below.

So, even though my arm was aching badly, getting out was easy. The difficult thing would be deciding where to go next.

I headed, with trepidation, down to my dorm. All the way, my mind was whirling with thoughts of what sort of reception I would get. All together, Crabbe, Goyle, Warrington, Daphne, Milicent and Pansy had all seen me dash off after Potter. With the exception of Crabbe and Goyle, none of those were reputed to be particularly taciturn.

In fact, they were all notorious gossips. So, alright- all of Slytherin would know that I'd buggered off to help fight against their parents.

Wonderful.

My only luck was that it was so early in the morning that surely nobody would be awake.

With that in mind, I snuck into the common room.

The light which usually lit the Slytherin rooms green was gone- without the sunlight hitting the lake, it was dark and cool in the dungeons, and so quiet that every sound echoed. It was odd to think that the last time I'd walked this way, I'd been less than an hour away from coming face to face with my father for the first time ever. And I'd had no idea- I'd just thought I'd be helping Harry….

But those thoughts weren't useful. I sighed, shrugging my shoulder like an idiot and sending jolts of pain down my arm. "_Merde._" I hissed, then froze. But it was all quiet in the common room- the fire wasn't even lit, so it was dark and almost uncomfortably cool.

Lucky. I sighed in relief- I hadn't been caught.

"Well, look who it is." Shit. I turned around to see Blaise standing behind me, face completely blank. "The prodigal daughter returns."

Daughter. I winced.

_Prodigal_ daughter? As in that muggle story where the son returns after living in vice and sin…. Blaise couldn't have known about my foray into the Gryffindor fold, could he now?

"Hi." I waved a little awkwardly, and then winced again, gritting my teeth. My arm still twinged quite a lot.

Blaise sneered. "Clearly manners _do_ hurt." He drawled. "Seeing as saying 'hello' caused you physical pain…" I shrugged (apparently, _not_ a fast learner), winced _again_, and he rolled his eyes. "Oh, come out with it, Dahlquist- what's the matter with your arm?"

Quickly, I began rolling my shoulder, as though stretching. "Oh, I slept on it funny."

Blaise nodded. "Indeed." He said disinterestedly. "You 'slept on it funny' in that place you've been sleeping? That place which _isn't_ the Slytherin dorms?"

I shot him a wink. "That'd be the place." I said, already sick of our banter. Unusually sick. Sick-to-my-stomach sick. But I couldn't let that show. "Still, no place like home… I missed my own bed too much." He started to say something else, but I'd zoomed up the stairs too fast for him to get it all out.

After all, I was busy. I had loads to think about. And if you could say one thing about Blaise, it was that he was too perceptive by half. Staying around when he was downstairs would only end in an argument. Or tears. Or probably both.

I headed upstairs as quietly as I could, not quite sure what I would do if anybody woke up and confronted me. What could I say, really? A small, ruthlessly logical part of me happily supplied _'you were there for your__ father__- even if you only worked that out later. It's easy: "Please! I found out my father was going to be there- I had to go!"_

I dismissed that almost instantly, smiling bitterly.

I _had_ to go- my _father_ was there.

If only I really _had_ known that before.

I clambered into my bed, checking quickly to see if any of the girls had woken up. But no, they were sleeping soundly. I smiled a little at that. It was nice that _somebody_ would be sleeping. I propped my pillows up against the back of my bed, sitting myself upright and closing my eyes.

What was I going to do now?

If I was going to be honest, the past three days had rocked my life to the core.

There was the battle. I squeezed my eyes shut as I thought about that- the _battle_.

How could a spur-of-the-moment decision, made with the best of intentions, have caused so much trouble?  
>I'd ruined the Malfoys, I knew that now. With Lucius in jail….. I'd never meant for that to happen- I'd only wanted to save Harry. The scandal which would arrive along with news of his arrest would change everything. There were already tensions between the Slytherins and the rest of the school. Now, it would get intense.<p>

The question was, where would I stand when it did?

Teenagers could be cruel when their peers were suffering- especially in _this_ sort of situation. I'd seen it, even at Hogwarts.

A few years ago, a fifth year Ravenclaw called Alfred Noble's uncle had been arrested for going mental and practicing magic on muggles. I still remembered the way he'd been teased. "Hide the muggle-borns! Noble's on the loose!", or, "Hey, Alfred, we're heading down to muggle London tomorrow- want to go round up some more lab-rats?". That would me a million times worse for people whose parents had been apprehended as Death Eaters. My life, and Draco's life, would be hell. I was just glad that it was holidays soon, and that I was in Slytherin.

Because we would band together- they wouldn't let anybody hurt me _or_ Draco. We were family.

Only, were we? My absence for the past few days would probably have been noticed, no matter how Draco had covered it up. There would be questions- Blaise had demonstrated that- and they would be the sort of questions I couldn't answer. Not without causing a scandal.

The Slytherins had been tolerant of my little 'cultural quirks' as Draco called them. They rolled their eyes when I made a point of talking to Luna Lovegood. They did nothing more than grumble when I hung out with squibs. But to fight _against_ their parents? That wasn't something they could brush off as a 'phase'. And the second that they found out, they would crucify me. And if they did that, would Draco stand by me still?

_Could_ he? Already, for him to have forgiven me, for him to still think of me as family after I'd cut his own in half, was beyond belief. If standing by me meant he'd lose friends, would he still do it?

And beyond that, I still didn't know the outcome of the battle. I'd dug my fingernails deep into my palm, and I was almost biting through my lip as I thought about it. I knew Lucius had been captured, but I didn't know what had happened to Bellatrix. Or Lestrange, or any of the others. They'd scattered when Dumbledore had shown up, but I don't know if they'd been beaten or if they'd escaped.

And suddenly, holidays didn't seem so wonderful after all.

The last time I'd stayed at the Manor, I'd almost been killed. And that was when I'd just been Lucius' ward. But no, I realised with a gasp, _not_ just 'Lucius's ward'. Draco had told me that Lestrange and my mother were cousins. And I knew now that Bellatrix and my father were cousins. So were Narcissa and my father. Which meant that they'd been willing to terrorise me when I was their known relative. Now I was their 'blood-traitor, mudblood-loving' relative. I was a disgrace.

So what would they do when they saw me again? Compliment me on my fantastic use of complex curses? Ask after my Gryffindor friends? My heart was beating faster at the thought of it.

I wanted to believe that if Lucius was locked up, Bellatrix was, too. But I couldn't be sure. That was a question to ask Draco.

Or Harry.

I practically snarled in rage. No, I couldn't ask Harry. Or Draco, not really. That would surely be pushing it. 'Hi, sorry about your father- tell me, is your Aunt _also_ going to be spending a lengthy sentence in Azkaban?' No. No, I couldn't do that.

The only thing I could really comfort myself with is that evil villains with any sense wouldn't hide somewhere predictable, and if anywhere classified as 'predictable', it would be the house of a wizard known to be their comrade. The Ministry would watch Malfoy Manor because of Lucius, so Bellatrix would be foolish to go back there. She'd have to be completely mental.

But then, the impression I'd gotten of her over our short acquaintance wasn't exactly one of sanity in its traditional sense.

Really, she was practically the opposite of Narcissa.

A small part of me wondered which of them Sirius Black had been like. But thinking that my mother could love anybody like Narcissa _or_ Bellatrix made my stomach writhe and twist.

I'd told Harry that I wanted to know my father. I'd told him that, because _Maman_ had loved him, I at least owed it to her to meet with him. And I'd felt so fabulously _mature_ as I'd said it. 'Oh, here I am, putting the past behind me and only thinking about the important things'.

I'd meant it, actually. But, truth be told, I hadn't meant it quite so generally. What I'd been thinking when I'd said that was, 'I'd love to meet the smart, confident, handsome man who surely could be the only man _Maman_ had ever loved.' I hadn't really thought past that initial picture of him- smart, confident, handsome. Probably rather dashing.

If I'd imagined him, which I never had, not really, he would have been successful. Or, if not successful, doing some dangerous or important career.

I had never considered that he could be anything less than spectacular, because _Maman_ deserved the best- you could really tell that after just two minutes alone with her.

"Sirius Black." I said out loud, forming the words and whispering them into the darkness. "_Merde_."

I'd heard about Sirius Black. He was a murderer- muggles, he'd killed so many muggles. I didn't know the full story, because it had just seemed like another horrific crime, another moment in history which made humanity cringe.

Of course, that was before it turned out that this cringe-inducing moment was my father's doing.

And _Maman_ had _loved_ him. So very much.

Had she known? Surely, she couldn't have known. She couldn't have loved him after that. And yet, she always loved him. Hated him, but loved him.

She would have known- things like that get reported, even in other countries- and she loved him anyway. Perhaps that's why loving him always seemed to hurt her so much. I raked my fingers back through my hair, pressing my eyelids tightly together.

_Wonderful_, that brutally honest voice said again, _So now, instead of having a madwoman and a hero for parents, you have a madwoman and a lunatic_.

No wonder I was such a mess. My hands were shaking, and my throat felt all dry, like it always did when I was about to cry- but I never let it get much further than that. I took a deep breath.

Now, I was logical. I was shrewd. So I wasn't going to sit in bed and lament the fact that my father had a less than savoury past. Harry had said something, during our happy 'conversation'. When I'd said Sirius Black was a death eater….

But of course. He had been _fighting_ the death eaters at the Ministry! Had he- did he switch sides? Was he a death eater and _then_ he went over to the…. Well, whatever the other side was called? I reached over to the side of my bed, feeling around for the edges of the photo. When I found it, I ripped it viciously off of the pin I'd used to stick it to the wall. "_Lumos_" I whispered, peering down at it.

There was _Maman_- laughing, smiling, flirting. She was so beautiful.

But I didn't really care about her.

There _he_ was. Behind her. His face was, from the point of view of somebody who spent all her time sketching and drawing, proportionally perfect. Strong jaw, balanced out by striking eyes. The nose was aristocratic, straight. High cheekbones- excellent bone structure, really.

I sobbed before I could help it. Was this it? Was this all I would know about him- that he was a damn good looking young man? That he'd been convicted of murdering innocents? That his beauty had withered? That his cousin had killed him?

_That he fought against the Death Eaters?_ I tried to ignore the logic that just kept flowing. _That he was loved by two very good people? That your mother loved him, too? That Harry thought of him as a father?_

My eyes flew wide open. "He had _no_ right." I snapped.

_That he saved your life? He cared about you? He __recognised__ you!_

I frowned, thinking back to the battle. He'd always been there, somehow. How was that possible, in a battle? And even- _"Get her out of here, Remus!"_. Had he been talking… had he been talking about _me_?

Suddenly, selfishly, I thrust those thoughts from my head. It didn't matter if he'd been thinking about me- that would have to be the _only_ time he ever had. He'd hurt _Maman_, and he'd hurt me, too. He'd been convicted of murder. I glared viciously down at the smiling boy in the photo.

How dare he? How could he appear so briefly in my life, make a bloody _cameo_, and then die, leaving me with no explanation, no way to know what had happened- who he was?

I have an endless capacity for rage, and in that moment, I found someone new to direct my anger at.

I stared down at the photo, feeling fury building up inside of me. "You're just a murderer." I hissed, beginning to tear across the edge of the photo. The boy looked a little panicked as cracks started appearing in his world. "You're a murderer- and you ruined _Maman's_ life." He was backing frantically away from the cracks. I grinned, changing directions and beginning to rip from the top. Realising that I was separating him from the others, he began to panic, but instead of looking scared, he looked furious. He'd drawn his little photographic wand and was pointing it angrily at the tears, trying to fix them. And as I watched, and he realised that he couldn't, he steeled his shoulders, and called something out to my mum, who was trying to climb across the now jagged edge of the photo. He was telling her to stop. On the other side, Harry's parents were standing as though in shock, and photographic Lupin was running to my mother's side.

I ignored that. "You won't ruin mine, though." I said quietly. "You almost did- you almost _just_ got in there- but you didn't manage it. I'm going to forget you. I don't _need_ you." And then, I finished the ripping, taking the little square in which my young father was trapped and tossing it away.

I glared up at the darkness. "I have family." I muttered in angry French. "I don't _need_ a father. Especially not a _dead_ father." I looked back down at the photo, where my little photographic mother was shouting furiously at Harry's parents and Lupin. As I watched, Lupin reached out a hand to comfort her, and she punched him in the arm. I couldn't help but smile, until I saw her push him once more, and then fall to the ground crying bitterly.

I'd seen her cry for him too many times- I wouldn't watch again. Carefully, I folded the photo in half, pushing it under my pillow. It was early. In the dungeons, you can't see the sun coming up, not really, but the windows in the roof of our dorms lead through to the lake, so I could see little flicks of light through the blackness of the water. I laid my head down on the pillow, satisfied with most of the conclusions I'd reached.

The fact that I now knew who my father is was irrelevant. He'd never been there for me, and from the way my mother had been for the five years I'd known her, he hadn't been there for _her_ either. I owed him nothing- he _was_ nothing. Not to me.

I'd shouted at Harry for being selfish, for keeping my father from me. But I'd been wrong. Harry could _keep_ this Sirius Black- I didn't need him. I decided to ignore the fact that my pillow was wet with tears- that meant nothing.

Sirius Black was _not_ my father. In fact, I saw no reason why anybody should ever know that he was.

"I don't have a father." I muttered in French as my eyes slowly closed. "Only a mother- I _had_ a mother." The quiet around me was oppressive. All I could hear was the gentle breathing of my dorm-mates. "I don't need anybody." I whispered. "I can forget about _all_ of this- I can be _alone_…"

And then, to my surprise, I was asleep.

…..

Somebody was talking to me. And they were talking _loudly_.

That was the first thing I noticed- that somebody was being _annoying_. And even though my brain felt like complete mush, I knew instantly just who this insanely chirpy person would be.

"Oh! Oh, hi, Elle."

I glanced blearily over at Carmeline, who was perched on the edge of her bed, watching me cautiously.

She should've known better than to address me in the mornings. I waved a hand in her direction. "Grrreetings." I slurred, pushing the whole confusing tangle of last night's thoughts out of my mind with a determined shove.

It didn't matter- I was back in my dorm, back with my friends, and _none_ of it mattered.

"We're so glad to see that you're back." Carmeline was saying, sounding sweet and cheerful, except for the note of panic in her voice.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and then noticed that Prudence and Wilhelmina's beds were empty. Alright- not _all_ my friends. "Wow…" I said haltingly, still half asleep. With an accusatory look at Carmeline, I flopped my hand around in the general direction of the other beds. "No… awake.. early. Really early."

Carmeline understood instantly. "Oh." She gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, they've gone down to breakfast." Blearily, I pointed at the clock in the corner, and Carmeline gave that same, scared laugh. "Oh, yes, it _is_ early- just gone 7:30." So _why_ were they already gone? I made a pained face, and for the third time, Carmeline tittered. "Oh, they were just…." Her voice died off, and she leaned back. "So- how are you feeling?"

I blinked, rubbing at my eyes a little. "I'm not sure- wait, what do you mean?"

She smiled sort of kindly, sort of nervously, and then seemed about to touch my arm, but instead stopped half way, pulling back her hand as though thinking better of it. Her smile turned slightly apologetic, slightly apprehensive. "Well." She said slowly. "Draco told us everything." She shuffled a little further back on her bed.

I felt a surge of betrayal, but it was quickly overtaken by fear. I was going to _forget_ all of that. All of it. I'd decided, and I'd taken the steps and thought it carefully through…. and it had lasted just under an hour and a half. "Really?" I asked, my tone clipped. She gave a nervous chuckle and I rolled my eyes angrily. Could she really be so selfish? We'd fought before, but I'd always stuck by her when it mattered, and this _mattered_. Rapidly, I reflected on the battle at the Ministry- I hadn't even _seen_ her father there. He couldn't have been captured, so why was she so scared of me? Wasn't she going to even ask to hear _my_ side of the story? "Well, it doesn't mean you have to sit so far away." I snapped. "It isn't like I'm diseased."

She squealed. "Don't be stupid- Dragon pox is highly contagious!"

I frowned, pushing my hair back off of my face. "Dragon….." Oh. _Oh_.

My feelings of intense relief were almost matched by my feelings of intense irritation.

And Draco had said he wasn't angry with me. So, my mysterious disappearance had been explained by… Dragon Pox. The least glamorous of diseases known to all wizard-kind. The disease which gave sufferers' skin a green tint, and resulted in clusters of scabby sores all over their faces.

Thanks, Draco. Thanks a ton.

"You don't _look_ green." Carmeline said, tentatively edging a little closer to me. "What did the tests say?"

I forced a smile to my face. "I just _told_ you." I said with a supreme effort. "I'm not diseased- false alarm." It was a struggle to keep smiling, and when I spoke again next, my voice was unnaturally tense. "How many people did Draco tell?"

Carmeline shrugged, unconcerned. "Just about everyone, I think."

"Peachy." I said, letting my head fall back on the pillow. "Is that why Mina and Pru left so early?"

Carmeline, apparently now feeling assured that I wasn't infected, happily jumped over to sit on my bed. "Yup." She grinned. And then her grin slipped as she realised the implications of Draco's blabbing. "We'd better make you look _extra_ pretty today." She said seriously. "So nobody thinks that you've got Dragon Pox."

Yeah. A bit late for that.

Carmeline prattled happily to me as she tossed clothes around the dorm. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and pretended everything was normal. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the whole of Slytherin thought that I had dragon pox, and I'd been fathered by a psychopath.

It was going to be a wonderful day.

…

Carmeline had insisted on doing my hair, and she wasn't exactly the speediest when it came to personal grooming.

So I didn't get downstairs until after eight, wearing my robes just a little cinched in, and with my hair neatened into perfect ringlets.

It felt so completely wrong that I almost vomited. The second I was out of Carmeline's sight, I'd thrown my head forwards and ruffled my hair up until it was its usual, horrid mess. That had been the first item on the agenda of my day.

Second would be to find Draco.

But I was sort of procrastinating on that count. It would be strained between us- _very_ strained- and I wasn't sure how I should act in order to make that better. Should I be apologetic? Grovelling? Would he perhaps respond better, feel more inclined to forgive me if I played the victim? Most boys I'd ever known, after all, preferred to be the strong one in any relationship- Draco was no different. He'd love having me _need_ him.

But the thought of manipulating Draco just seemed wrong at this point, even though that was practically my default setting.

Still, despite my pre-emptive guilt about scheming against Draco, I couldn't help but analyse when would be best to approach him. Did he need time? Space? Or would sooner be better?

And _where_? Public versus private- public meant he couldn't make a fuss and indicated that the whole situation wasn't anything too significant, and could therefore be forgotten, but private demonstrated that I was taking the situation seriously, and showed respect.

In the end, my Machiavellian planning all went to pot when I bumped into Draco in one of the corridors leading away from the Slytherin dorms.

I'd been muttering to myself like a lunatic, and he'd been staring moodily at the floor, so neither of us saw the other, and we both ended up in a pile on the floor.

By the time he'd helped me to my feet, I'd blurted out. "Nobody knows a thing!" Draco blinked in surprise, but my mouth was moving again. "Nobody knows about what I did- about the Ministry…"

Draco cast a quick look around him, grabbing my forearm and dragging me forcibly away from the Slytherin dorms. "Honestly, Estelle." He snapped. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, blurting that sort of thing out?"

Killed? I'd sort of been expecting more of a 'maiming' from my Slytherin friends when they found out. With a scowl, I yanked my arm free of Draco, rubbing angrily at it. He sighed, smoothing his hair down a little. He looked drawn and tired. When I shot him an accusing look, he rolled his eyes.

"Oh _Please_, Estelle." He said sharply. "As though I'd allow… what happened… to spread around." His eyes flickered just slightly as he looked at me. And then, he glanced away. "We have to appear strong, you remember? United."

I nodded slowly. "I remember."

He looked satisfied. "Right." And then he sighed. "I told all those who'd been present when you left that it wasn't worth the scandal, the gloating we'd have to endure from the Gryffindors, to punish you. I wasn't lying, either. Even if you weren't family, I'd have advised them to keep it quiet. We _must_ present a united front - simply act as though nothing has happened." He shot me a look. "That said, nobody who knows is particularly happy about it. And Pansy in particular has said that she'll have difficulty being quite as nice to you as she was before."

I made a mock-unhappy face. "And I shall so miss her sweetness." I said sarcastically, and somehow the whole conversation was suddenly easy. I shouldn't have worried- there was never any need to overthink things with Draco. He cared about me, and we were practically siblings- I didn't need to strategise. I looked back at him. "And… Dragon Pox?"

The malicious glint in his tired eyes made it seem like he was about to reply, but then his face changed. "You don't _have_ Dragon Pox." He said loudly as some first years walked by. "It was a false alarm." And then he turned back to me, with a new sense of urgency. He knew we didn't have a lot of time for quiet discussion. "Alright." He said quietly. "This is how it is going to work- you'll be staying out of sight as much as possible until we're going home, understood?"

I shook my head. "Not at all." I said, folding my arms. "Why?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why must you _always_ make things difficult? Even when I'm doing my utmost to protect your interests!"

"_My_ interests?" I shouted, but as a cluster of Ravenclaws passing by began to giggle, I reined in my temper. "_My_ interests?" I repeated in a whisper. "Keeping me locked up… no!" I shook my head, remembering just hours earlier, and the way I'd sat in bed, thinking over everything. A wave of irrational fear shot through me. "I want- I want distractions! If I'm alone I'll have to _think_."

Draco shook his head vigorously. "You are so _pigheaded_." He barked, and then shot a nervous look around him. Satisfied that nobody had heard him, he turned back to me. "Merlin! Estelle- are you really so incapable of seeing that this is for your own good?"

I sniffed. "Yes. _In_capable."

He jammed his hands into his pockets and glared at me. "Why don't you ever just do what you're told?" He muttered angrily.

My brittle smile snapped in two, and all of a sudden, my arm was hurting again, and I was back in that stone arena, staring into eyes identical to my own.

_Do you not do anything you're told?_

"Estelle- Est_elle_. Are you listening?" I blinked twice, shocked to see Draco snapping his fingers angrily just under my nose. Sensing that he'd gotten my attention, he sighed. "Good. Now, go back up to your room….."

I hissed. "I said _no_, Drake!" I snapped, upset by my flashback. "Half those people think I have an infectious disease. And a handful of them think I'm a traitor…."

He shot me a look in that moment, which almost made me cry. It was a look that said 'well, aren't you?' But he didn't say anything. Instead, he sighed, leaning against the wall. "Estelle." He said. "I want you to stay in your dorm unless _absolutely_ necessary." He told me firmly, smoothing his hair back. "I don't want to upset you, but …. Look, Mother owled me while you were in the hospital. There's a reporter from the Prophet- he's been trying to get in contact with her."

I shook my head. "I don't understand." I said softly, my eyes darting involuntarily to the left as somebody tall with dark hair walked past. I hissed under my breath, willing myself to stop acting like a crazy person.

Draco sighed, still smoothing his hair back, so, so carefully. "They're releasing an article." He said. "On- on the battle at the Ministry. On Father's…." He gulped, then looked away. "They wanted a statement from the families of those who were…. It doesn't matter. The point is, there _will_ be an article on those events, and therefore people _will_ know… about you." His eyes were suddenly brimming with sadness. I felt my stomach clench. "The only reason it hasn't gone out yet is because of Dumbledore, and the fact that the Ministry is being so secretive."

I nodded. "Of course they are." I said, ignoring everything else he'd said- I didn't want to think about that. "This article will admit that they were wrong about everything."

"This article will make you a walking target." Draco corrected icily. "Potter and his friends are safe enough- the teachers are _always_ there, and they live on the other side of the castle." He looked directly at me. "But there's nothing to stop anybody who's upset by the article coming after _you_- that means idiotic Gryffindors who think you're a Death Eater's ward, _or_ angry Slytherins."

To my horror I could feel tears pricking up against the backs of my eyes. "So- so you're saying that…"

"Stay out of the way until we leave." He snapped. "That's all I'm saying. Greg and Vince say that they'll sit with you when I'm not there. Blaise, too." He shot me a look. "He guessed where you were, that night. Didn't buy the 'Dragon Pox' story."

Of course he hadn't- the boy was too cunning for his own good. I remembered his sly smile as he'd drawled 'the _prodigal daughter_'. He was too witty for his own good, too.

I shook my head. "No, Draco." He blinked, and I looked up at him. "I'm not hiding."

He spluttered. "Oh- now, Estelle- now is not the time for Gryffindor-esque stupidity."

"They prefer the term 'courage'." I said simply, and he snarled.

"And _I_ prefer plain-speaking!" He snapped. "Listen to me- standing by your morals is all very well and good, but when you're dead, it can be difficult. You've burned your bridges in Slytherin, and the Gryffindors certainly won't protect you." I looked away from him, the truth in his words making my eyes prickle with tears. Merlin what was _wrong_ with me? I'd so rarely cried until this week. But Draco wasn't finished. "You don't have a leg to stand on and to put yourself out there would be ridiculous!"

"I'm not an idiot, Draco." I snapped, cutting him off. He waited. "I wasn't going to announce my actions to the world- you're right. I need to choose a side, and choosing Gryffindor was delusional- it won't ever work. And it wasn't fair to you." I sighed, messing my hair up a little in frustration, my eyes boring into the wall as the wheels in my head turned round. "So, I have to salvage my Slytherin connections. And _that_ means that I have to stop people finding out about last Thursday."

Draco began to talk then, but I wasn't listening. I wasn't going to hide, but I wasn't going to make a statement, either. Instead, I would remove myself from the whole situation- detach myself as though I'd never been there. I agreed entirely with what Draco said. Morals and opinions were wonderful, but wouldn't do me any good. It was _those_ I had to hide- not myself.

And to do _that_, I had to stop my peers finding out about my involvement at the Ministry. I thought back over what Draco had said- the holdup had been the Ministry itself, and…

"Dumbledore."

Draco stopped mid-rant. "What?"

I grinned. "I can fix this." I said. "I can fix it- don't worry, Draco." I turned to sprint away, but he grabbed my arm.

"Wait." He snapped, and then frowned, uncertain. I waited. "Do you think." He began hesitantly. "Do you want to… do you think we ought to discuss your father?"

Another flare of pain in my arm. Grinning manically, I shook my head, tearing my arm free. "No time. And no need." And then, I was gone, darting away before he had a chance to say anything else.

…..

I'd never been to Dumbledore's office. Truth be told, I wasn't sure how it worked. But Blaise had pointed it out to me once, and I knew where it was. So the second I got to the alcove with the huge eagle statue, I stopped, sighing.

Here was where my cunning and charisma became a little useless. It is, after all, difficult to charm a statue. "I need to talk to Dumbledore." I said eventually- the giant BigBird lookalike stared impassively down at me.. "I'm a pupil- tell him that." I thought it was looking a little condescending, which was an odd expression to find on a stone eagle's face. I tried again. "Actually, tell him that there's a newly orphaned _girl_ waiting outside his office." I paused. "Tell him that I want to talk about _feelings_."

That did it. Gryffindors- appeal to their sense of honour and they're eating out of the palm of your hand. The stone eagle nimbly leapt aside, revealing a spiral staircase. I leapt up it two steps at a time, irrationally worried that I was going to be too late.

The office itself was lovely. Lined with books and portraits, and cluttered with lots of strange looking instruments, but somehow spotlessly clean. In my raggedy robes, I felt completely out of place.

"Well, hello." I looked up to see a painting of an old man staring shrewdly down at me. "_You're_ not Harry Potter."

I shot him a sneer. "You're so _clever_." I told him, and he made a disgruntled huffing noise.

"It's _always_ that daft Potter boy." He grumbled. "So… so _wholesome_ and well-meaning. It's infuriating." His eyes fell to my uniform. "You're a _Slytherin_- I appreciate that."

"That's good." I said, feeling prickly. "Because I did that _specially_ for your benefit. Asked the sorting hat particularly and everything."

Perhaps 'prickly' didn't quite describe the way I was feeling. Perhaps that was an understatement.

He didn't seem offended. Rather, he chuckled. "Oh, for the days of witty, biting banter." He said with a dramatic sigh. And then he leaned forwards. "What family?"

That was a question you got used to hearing when you frequented pureblood society. So what if _this_ time somebody asked me, I actually knew the full answer. It didn't matter. I met his gaze steadily, and gave him the same answer I'd always given. "Dahlquist."

He nodded. "Hmmnn. Good, good." He shrugged ruefully. "French, admittedly, but what can you do? And I hear that we're _much_ more accepting of foreigners now." He stroked his pointy little beard thoughtfully. "Yes, yes. And your mother?"

I was grinding my teeth together. This was a conversation I'd had far too often. "That _is_ my mother's family."

His dark eyes widened- it was difficult to see their colour from so far away. "Oh. Oh you're the _bastard_, then? Oh, I've heard Severus and Albus discussing you."

I smiled. "What an original nickname." I said drily. "I've never been called _that_ before."

"Miss Dahlquist." I looked up to see Dumbledore standing on the second level of his office, watching me from behind half-moon glasses. I'd never seen him this close before. "I see you've met Phineas."

"Not as such." I said, turning back to the portrait. "He tells me I'm called 'the Bastard', and I was considering referring to _him_ as the 'old fop'."

Dumbledore watched me for a moment longer, ignoring the painting- Phineas'- outraged complaints. "I'll speak to you later, Phineas." He said calmly. And then, still looking at me, he said, "How can I help you, Miss Dahlquist?"

Straight into it, then? Fine by me.

"I don't _really_ want to talk about feelings." He nodded. "I want to ask you something." I said, clasping my hands behind my back. "And then I shall get out of your way."

"Oh?" Dumbledore smiled kindly at me. "There's no need for that, I assure you. "In fact," he removed his glasses, rubbing gently at the lenses with the edge of his robe. "I was rather hoping you'd stop by before the year ended." My gaze was impassive. "I'm sure," he continued, that same gentle smile still on his face, "that you must have some… _questions_. The time for a talk between us is, I confess, long overdue."

I met his eyes, keeping my expression steely. "Long overdue." I said. "And expired. I don't want to talk to you. Not about _that_."

He looked sad for a moment. "Perhaps you do not. Not right now. But I have found that, often, when you least expect it, you can find unanswered questions rising in your throat unbidden. You find that they are the last thing you think of when you want to go to sleep." He smiled. "That may happen to you, and if it does….."

"I doubt it." I said coolly, cutting him off. "No more talk." _No more lies_. I sighed, looking awkwardly around the room. "Somebody broke your…. Thing." I said lamely, nodding at a delicate silver instrument which was smashed into a few pieces. Dumbledore shrugged tiredly.

"Ah, yes. The hazards of working with teenagers." He waited for a moment, and I took a deep breath.

"Draco was telling me." I began, saying each word carefully. Something occurred to me, and I shot him a look. "Do you know Draco?" I asked, and he nodded. I accepted this without question- I got the impression that he would know most of his students. "He was telling me that there is to be an article published in the Prophet." I took another deep breath. "About the Ministry. The Battle."

Dumbledore pressed the tips of his fingers lightly together. "This is true." He said, watching me patiently as I struggled to speak.

"He said that it was taking a while because of _you_." I looked at him again, clasping my hands behind my back. "I took that to mean that the Prophet needed permission from _you_, or perhaps information. I assumed that this 'information' would be about the students involved."

He smiled kindly. "Very astute of you, Miss Dahlquist." He said. "Your mother had very much the same logical mind…."

"I don't care." I said sharply, my tone losing all semblance of civility. "I don't care how well you knew my mother, or my f-father." I hoped he hadn't noticed the almost imperceptible stutter as I'd said 'father', but I very much thought that he had. "I just need to know- will I be named in the article? As one of the students involved?"

Dumbledore swiftly leaned forwards on his hands, his eyes gazing intently into mine. "No." he said finally, leaning back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. "Your name was not given to the reporters. We thought it best to wait for your consent- when you awoke."

"Keep it that way." I said firmly, suddenly very eager to leave. "I want it to be as though I was never there, understood?" He was still watching me, and I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It's best that way." I told him, not sure why I was explaining myself to him- it wasn't his business. And I wasn't doing _anything_ wrong. "Best for Draco. Best for me, maybe." I felt a small surge of anger. "What _I_ think is best for me."

He leaned forwards again, looking at me with concern, "Miss Dahlquist," he said, after a long moment of thoughtful consideration, "I understand that you are angry- partly with Harry, partly with Remus, and perhaps even partly with _me_. That is to be expected. It is natural." He sighed. "But I _do_ feel- I do _very_ much feel- that just a short conversation with me, just now, would help….."

I looked sharply away, then frowned. "I have to go." I told him. And then, partly because I was too tired to lie, but mostly because I sort of felt he would appreciate the honesty, I said. "You make me uncomfortable, and frankly I think it's a little late for you to start caring what I think about your motives."

He nodded. "Admirably plain-spoken." He told me. "And quite understandable." Suddenly, he was standing, and I was reminded of just how powerful his presence was. "Ah, well. You've made up your mind. And as your parents' daughter, I know better than to try and change it." He paused. "Just know that my door is always open to you."

I nodded stiffly, making to leave, but just at that instant, something occurred to me. Now, I didn't feel any warmer towards Dumbledore than I did towards Lupin or Harry, but I was already talking to the old coot. It was, I figured, better to ask him now than to have to approach Harry or Lupin. "There is _one_ thing." I said haltingly. Dumbledore waited, the picture of attentiveness. I wanted to hit him. "I don't know how…. What happened at the Ministry… ended." I said, folding my arms.

He looked pensive. "You wish to know which of your guardian's… 'friends' evaded capture?" I was surprised that he'd guessed so quickly, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I just sniffed and inclined my head. He nodded, drumming his long fingers on the table. "Yes. But more than that." And now his eyes took on an uncomfortably sharp cast. "You want to know if you'll be safe at Malfoy Manor over the holidays."

I considered my options. I knew that Draco was all about keeping up appearances, but that seemed pointless here. And frankly, even were I at my most cunning, I doubted that I'd be able to fool Dumbledore. "I _did_ fight against them." I said coolly. "If Narcissa and Draco have forgiven me…" I shrugged. "It's more than I deserve. But the others have no affection for me…"

"I doubt that that is _strictly_ true." Dumbledore interrupted, but with such an air of solemnity and good grace that it hardly seemed rude. He looked up at me with a sigh. "Your father fretted that you would meet your cousins at Malfoy Manor over the holidays." His eyes grew sad. "Once again, it seems that I might've paid more heed to his concerns. I had thought that Narcissa, at very least, would try and distance you from her sister and brother-in-law."

I remembered, all in a flash, being herded upstairs for Christmas, being told not to move… Draco had known why, but nobody had told _me_. They'd kept their reasons hidden.

Perhaps, had I been feeling a little more charitable towards him, I might've told Dumbledore that he'd been right- that Narcissa had _tried_ to keep me away, but had underestimated my stubborn curiousity. But I wasn't feeling charitable. Especially now that he was parading the fact that he'd discussed me with my father earlier in the year.

_Not your father_. I told myself. _Not really your father._

"I am glad, however, that Sirius had a chance to see that their influence had not affected you." He said softly. I tried not to snort- Harry had said much the same thing. Were they working from a script? "Miss Dahlquist." Dumbledore continued. "While Bellatrix and Rodolphus both harbour a grudge against you- for quite similar reasons, really- your blood will protect you from harm." He sighed. "Through some accident, your parents- the two most contrary individuals I ever had the pleasure of knowing- managed to fulfil their families' ambitions completely." His eyes twinkled. "You are the epitome of a pureblood, the last of two prestigious bloodlines. You won't be hurt. You are far more useful to them alive."

I sniffed. "They didn't seem to be holding back at the Ministry." I told him cruelly.

He shrugged ruefully. "In the heat of battle? No, I suppose they wouldn't. But Bellatrix has always thought more clearly with her sister by her side, and Narcissa simply will not let her hurt you."

"She could hardly stop her." I whispered. "And nobody could stop Lestrange."

Dumbledore blinked. "Rodolphus?" He sighed. "If it makes you feel _any_ better, Miss Dahlquist, all of the Death Eaters at the Ministry were caught- Bellatrix excepted." That hardly made me feel better. Perhaps he caught sight of my derision, because Dumbledore tried again. "Miss Dahlquist, I assure you, if I had any inkling that you would be hurt, I would not allow you to return with Draco."

Now, I made no effort to hide my scorn. "You'll forgive me if I _don't_ believe you." I told him with a sniff.

His gaze turned thoughtful. "And yet, you plan to return anyway." He said slowly. I shifted uncomfortably. "Yes- for your family, I think."

It was too much- too uncomfortable. "I'm _leaving_." I snapped, and then turned on my heel, storming down the steps. But the murmur of voices from the office made me pause, hold my breath, and listen just outside the door.

"You were oddly well-behaved, Phineas." I heard Dumbledore say, sounding incredibly weary.

The next voice I recognised as the old, shrewd man in the painting. "Come now, Dumbledore, I can be patient when the situation demands it- I didn't want her running off before I could get a good look at her." He said. "_You _chased her off well enough yourself though." There was a note of accusation in his voice. "Not before I caught a look at her face- traditional Black nose, and the eyes, of course."

"Of course." Dumbledore replied good-naturedly.

I waited from behind the door, still holding my breath.

"Am I to understand then," The painting sounded fairly annoyed. "That in fact, my great-great grandson was _not_ the last of the Blacks?"

There was a pause. "She calls herself a 'Dahlquist', actually."

The painting snorted. "Dahlquist! Pah. Downright disrespectful." Then he paused. "And you're sending her _back_ to the Malfoy house, are you, Dumbledore?" There was no answer. "I suppose I'm only shocked because you seem to dislike Lucius Malfoy so very much." There was a pause, and Dumbledore must've given the painting a look, because then he grumbled. "Alright, alright. Not dislike _him,_ but certainly his values." He grumbled a little. "Good, strong, family values, in my opinion. The best place for my great-great-great granddaughter to be raised. Still, with young Bellatrix running loose, you can hardly think that Narcissa wants for company."

I waited, curious myself as to his reasons for basically _encouraging_ me to go home. I didn't have to wait long. "I'm not sending her back for Narcissa's benefit." He said tiredly. "But I do _hope_ she returns."

"What for?" The painting sounded annoyed. "If you get _this_ descendent killed, too, Dumbledore…"

"You of all people know that they won't hurt her." Dumbledore chastised. "Not with lineage like hers." And then, there was another pause. "I'm sending her for Draco."

"Draco?" Again, a pause. "That little blonde _rat_?" I felt a surge of anger on Draco's behalf. "Whatever for? His father might be in Azkaban, but he doesn't need any pseudo-family members fluttering uselessly about…"

"She _is_ his family." Dumbledore said firmly. "And I fear that without her by his side, we may lose him…"

I didn't want to hear any more. I ran.

That painting had been right- Dumbledore knew just how to chase me away.

…

Despite my very determined attempt to convince myself that _nothing_ had happened to make this year any different from the year before, the few days before holidays began were not my happiest ones.

I spent most of my time in a haze, either staring at Harry, or Macgonnagal, or Dumbledore, without even realising it. It wasn't that I wanted to talk to them, or at least, I told myself that that wasn't it at all. But still, it would happen. If I didn't keep myself fully focused on my friends, my gaze would drift back to them as though drawn by a magnet.

I tried to snap myself out of it- I made valiant efforts to participate in the conversations, to contribute snide little remarks, just as I always had. But it was difficult, and I kept drifting back into myself. Perhaps, were it just any other time, people would have noticed. But nobody did. All of Slytherin was in a similar state.

When the article was finally published in the Prophet, and Harry was hailed as a reluctant hero overcoming the odds, I finally saw the aftermath of what I'd participated in.

The men I'd fought at the Ministry- the Death Eaters- had been Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Rookwood, Avery, Dolohov, two Lestranges, Mulciber, Bellatrix and of course, Lucius.

Simone Wildling from third year was apparently half a Rookwood, on her mother's side. Vince and Greg's fathers were both in Azkaban. Theo's, too. Eli Dolohov's third cousin had also been captured. Wilhelmina told me at breakfast that day that she lived next door to Avery's decrepit father- 'a sweet man', she told me.

Everybody was connected to somebody- that was the way the pureblood community worked.

And that meant that at mealtimes there wasn't a single person at my table whom I could look comfortably in the eye. The guilt was intense. It was with me every second, like a pit in my gut. It suddenly didn't matter that I thought the whole Death Eater movement was ridiculous and repulsive- what mattered was that my actions had helped to hurt my friends.

Of course, the bullying started early on.

It was poor, bookish Theo who was cornered first. Three Ravenclaw halfbloods and a Hufflepuff muggleborn attacked him in between periods. It was lucky that Warrington had been walking past, everybody said, because those boys might've killed Theo by accident- without even meaning to. Hate and fear are dangerous that way.

After that we began to travel in flocks, especially those whose fathers had been captured. I stayed with Draco all the time, ignoring the whispers and the harsh comments as best as I could. But all the while, my guilt grew and grew.

I suppose it was different for the Gryffindors. They could be proud of what they'd done. They could talk to their muggle-born friends and feel a sense of achievement at having made the world a safer place for them.

But for me? There was nobody in Slytherin who was glad about the outcome of the Ministry battle. It had bought me and mine nothing but trouble and pain. After all, what had my friends gained, what had _I_ gained from running after Harry?

_What would you have lost?_ That pesky voice countered from the back of my head. I thought absently of Harry- would the night have ended much differently without me there? Would Harry have been hurt? Or would he have escaped, knowing that Lucius had helped kill his godfather?

Had _that_ happened, he would have confronted me, and I would have come face to face with a bitter Harry, asking me to choose a side….

We would fight, and I would be too proud to apologise. He wouldn't apologise, either, because of his grief.

And if he had been hurt, or even killed? Well, then our dysfunctional friendship would have ended abruptly.

So, what would I have lost if I had let Harry be? If I'd just stayed in the Common Room and minded my own business?

Nothing that I hadn't lost anyway.

Because I hadn't so much as waved at Harry since that afternoon when he'd torn my world into neat little shreds. Sometimes, he'd call after me in the halls, but I'd ignore him. And it was difficult, anyway. He was constantly mobbed by admirers, and I was always escorted by some Slytherin boy.

Draco said that this was in case I was attacked, but I knew better. It was in case Harry approached me.

I wouldn't have talked to him anyway, though. I was barely talking to anybody at all.

Even watching Umbridge being chased out of the castle by Peeves didn't brighten my mood. I'd grinned, and as though on autopilot made some snide comment to Jess, but my amusement didn't sink any deeper than face value. It was sort of fortunate, really, that with Lucius in Azkaban my behaviour had an easy explanation. There were no questions, no whispers - not from my friends, anyway. They were all respectfully giving me space. Even the few who knew that I'd been at the Ministry weren't being uncivil.

Pansy was awful, of course, but Crabbe and Goyle were the same as ever. Daphne and Tracey just ignored me, but then neither of them had lost close relatives in the Battle. Montague and Warrington had so little to do with me that it hardly mattered.

I should have known that it would all catch up to me. But for some reason, I was so certain that it wouldn't. Denial, perhaps? I'm not sure.

In any case, on the very last day of term, as I dragged my suitcase back to the Hogwarts express, I was certain that I'd gotten away with it. Draco had worked hard to convince the former Inquisitorial Squad to hold their tongues, so nobody was going to find out about my involvement, and Dumbledore hadn't named me. But – and somehow, this seemed even more important to me- nobody seemed to have guessed the truth about Sirius Black, either.

This was bizarrely important to me. Somehow my usually logical mind had decided that if nobody else knew that _he_ was the one who'd fathered me, then it wasn't really true. I hadn't allowed myself to think about him since I'd decided that he was irrelevant in my life (except for one, regrettable research session)- I'd decided to edit him out, just as my mother had done.

And, thinking like that, I was able to function almost as well as I had been before the whole incident- on the surface at least.

Which was why, when Carmeline and Jess caught up with me, hefting their own trunks behind them and huffing with the effort, I was able to manage a smile.

"Girls." I said with a nod. _Toss your hair_, I reminded myself. _You always toss your hair._ Obediently, I gave them a sly smile, flicking my long hair off of my shoulders. "All packed?"

"You didn't wait for us." Jess pointed out, sounding annoyed. They'd slowed to walking pace now that they'd caught up. "We always walk together."

Oh, yeah. We _did_ always walk together. Burying my panic, I grinned. "You were taking _so_ long, though." I complained. _You usually make jokes_, I reminded myself. "I know it takes you two longer than most to make yourselves presentable…"

Weak. It was lucky that nobody truly expected me to be on form.

"Says _you_." Carmeline said with a nervous grin. "Just because we can't all roll out of bed, forget to brush our hair, smudge some eye makeup on and just begin the day…" Her eyes narrowed speculatively. "Are you- you're actually wearing your pyjamas, aren't you?

"Pyjama _top_." I corrected her. And I was. I'd just pulled a pretty skirt over the top of it and tucked it in . Usually, I knew, they would've laughed. But neither of them said anything. They were acting oddly- their cheerful words seemed almost strained, as though they were a pitiful cover for some deep, dark problem.

They were acting like me. "What?" I asked quietly. Carmeline fidgeted uncomfortably and Jess rested a hand on my arm. We stopped walking.

"Look- turns out that… well, you know how…." I waited expectantly, and Carmeline waved her hands around ineloquently. "Okay, so the other day, when you were…. Remember how Draco said…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Carmeline." Jess snapped angrily, turning to face me. She sighed. "Lets get to the point- Montague still has to take habitual medication for the disorientation he is _still_ experiencing, because of that whole vanishing cabinet thing."

Carmeline nodded sadly. "It's true." She said. "Sometimes, he gets confused and he puts his pants on backwards. Or he gets lost in the halls. Or he gets his friends confused, which was why he spend all of lunch the other day trying to hit on Pucey, because _he_ thought that he was Daph."

I raised an eyebrow. "Amusing. But irrelevant." They shuffled awkwardly, and I sighed. "Why does Montague's closet gayness make you so uncomfortable around me?"

"He was at the hospital wing." Jess said quietly, meeting my eyes steadily. "The day before yesterday. And he- well, lets say he heard more than he was meant to."

"All of Slytherin knows!" Carmeline butted in with a loud squeal. "He told everybody- about how Sirius Black was your father!"

I froze. "He said _what_?"

"Oh, don't worry!" Carmeline shook her head vigorously. "Don't worry- nobody else knows, not really…"

"Only, that Corner boy said something funny as you walked past, before." Jess said cautiously. "I think it may have gotten to Ravenclaw- you know how we 'tolerate' them." She frowned, as though worried that she'd given the wrong impression. "At least when we have really good gossip."

"Plus." Carmeline said thoughtfully. "Well, Ravenclaws tend to date Gryffindors a lot, have you noticed? Say, Potter and Chang. And Weaslette and Corner." She met my eyes, looking almost apologetic. "So the Gryffindors know."

God. Did _everybody _know? At least no self-respecting person would speak to the Hufflepuffs.

"We should also consider." Jess said slowly, with an expression of mild disgust "That the do-goodery natures of the Gryffindors means that they often talk to the Hufflepuffs."

"Alright." I snapped, breathing heavily. "So the whole school knows."

They shot me identical, awkward smiles. "At least it turns out you come from brilliant heritage?" Carmeline put forward. "_That's_ something. In fact, you should be proud."

I didn't have anything to say to that, really. "I'm walking the rest of the way alone." I told nobody in particular, and jogged ahead a little, eager to get away from them. It was humiliating just how much talk of my father still offended me. Before I'd begun to banish him from my life, I'd racked my brains, until I remembered everything I could about him. On the morning I'd talked to Dumbledore, I'd even borrowed Pru's scrapbook of Prophet stories, and read all of the ones about his arrest, his crimes….. It didn't make me any less bitter to read horrible things about him, confirming that he was an awful person. I still felt a sense of loss when I remembered that he was dead, despite having convinced myself that he was nothing to me.

But now everybody knew, and that last, feeble barrier which had kept me from accepting my heritage had been torn down. I hoped that, at least, people would realise that I didn't want to talk. I hoped they would leave me alone.

"So." I sighed as Blaise fell into step with me. Of course. It was the first time he'd approached me since the night I'd left the Hospital Wing, so I just _knew_ that he was spoiling for a fight. "I know that you're meant to say 'mazeltov' when somebody has a baby, and there was something about cigars…" He frowned, then grinned maliciously. "Well, I don't know if that applies when somebody has a _father_, but I brought some cigarettes in case…."

I slapped him sharply on the face. He glared at me incredulously for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as one hand went up to touch the cheek I'd just hit. I met his gaze as fiercely as I could. "Just _don't_." I hissed. "I don't want to hear _any_ more. At all."

His eyes narrowed even more, and then abruptly, he returned to his normal, blank expression. "You have violent tendencies." He said. "I suppose those come from your father's side…" I wanted to hit him again, until he continued nonchalantly with. "I heard that in his first year, Sirius Black muggle-wrestled Snape in the middle of a classroom."

The smile was on my face before I could stop it, but it faded just as quickly. I would _not_ fall into the trap of liking my father. My eyes narrowed and I looked away from Blaise. I had _told_ him. I'd said that I didn't want to hear anything else- did _nobody_ listen to me? Ever? He waited, and I turned to him angrily. "I've really had enough- too much. And for now, at least, I don't want to hear _any more_. And I don't want to see any reminders."

He eyed me for a moment. "I'm glad you slapped me." He said, sounding utterly bored. "Because otherwise, I'd think you'd become completely pathetic."

I wanted to slap him. Again. Of _course_ he would make light of this- he probably thought it was all some hilarious joke. The bastard Dahlquist revealed to be of the most respectable pedigree imaginable- practically a comedy routine. The only thing I had to be grateful for was that he hadn't mentioned anything about the Ministry. Not a thing. I wouldn't even have been sure that he knew, had Draco not told me so himself.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I hissed at him, grasping my trunk firmly and striding off, trying to close the huge distance between me and the train. "I want _everybody_ to just leave me alone for a while!"

It was almost ironic that at that moment, I heard my name called.

"Estelle!" I wasn't sure who was calling me until I saw Blaise's sneer, and felt him step in front of me.

"How lovely of you to pay a visit, Pothead." He said coolly. "But I feel that perhaps you've done _quite_ enough for one school year. How about you come back after the holidays and see how much more you can destroy Estelle's spirit _then_?"

Something rallied within me. "My spirit is just _fine_, Blaise." I snapped, feeling like myself for the first time in ages. And then turned my gaze to Harry. "What?"

He frowned at me, as though disappointed by my reaction. "I just…" I waited, dropping my trunk on the ground so that I could fold my arms condescendingly. Harry's frown deepened. "I've been trying to talk to you since…" Now he sighed. "I just think we have a lot to talk about." He told me. "Can- actually, Zabini, would you mind?"

"Blaise, don't go anywhere." I said quickly. He rolled his eyes.

"Make up your mind." He said icily. But he stayed where he was anyway, folding his arms menacingly and glaring at Harry.

I smiled back at him. "This won't take long." I looked back to Harry. "Well?"

He sighed. "Come on, Estelle." He said weakly. "Can't we just talk? Without him around?" I kept my expression carefully blank, and getting the picture, he sighed. "Alright. I wanted to see if you would sit with me on the train ride back?" I said nothing, and hopefully, he continued. "I could tell you a bit… you know, about Sirius."

"I don't really care what you have to say." I said. "And I'd rather kiss Crabbe than sit with you."

The frown stopped being pensive and became annoyed. "You're being childish." He said sharply. "You know, you're not the only one who's been affected by his death…"

I laughed sharply. "Potter," I drawled cruelly. "I haven't had a chance to be affected by his death yet- I'm still too busy trying to process that he was once _alive_." There was a long silence- I think that Harry really wasn't quite sure what to say. I looked away from him, a small part of me bitterly disappointed by the fact that he hadn't been able to make me trust him again. "I have to go." I heard myself say. "I'm meeting Draco…"

"You shouldn't go back there." Harry said quickly. I was confused until I realized that he was talking about the Manor. "Don't go back with Malfoy- that's not what your dad would've wanted- not at all!"

"Oh, like you'd know." I snapped, feeling my temper fraying bit by bit.. "My father didn't want _anything_ for or from me. If he had, he might've said something before now."

Harry looked furious. "He was a fugitive!" he yelled. I was shocked. He'd never yelled at me before.

But that just made me angrier. "Oh, but of _course_ he was." I said, mock sweetly. "After all, he led You Know Who _straight_ to your parents!"

I wondered absently if he would punch me, but instead he just shook his head in disbelief. "Why would you want to believe that?" he asked. "I mean- you would've read the papers the other day. Even if it _didn't_ mention you." My eyes widened in shock- surely he hadn't done that on purpose? It was like he was trying to tell Blaise about my involvement. Of course, Blaise knew anyway, but Harry couldn't know that. But, to try and sabotage my relationship with my friends like that just seemed so… _Slytherin_. Apparently regretting his hasty words, Harry cleared his throat. "If you read it, you'd have seen that Sirius might be cleared of all charges- there's proof that he isn't a criminal.

I shook my head viciously. "There is _speculation_." I snapped. "Nothing has been accepted."

The way he looked at me almost broke my heart. Because there it was again, that look in his eyes which made me feel like he _knew_ me, even though nobody else seemed to. Not at all. "No." He said slowly. "You're ignoring the evidence…. Why would you want to hate him?"

"What would be the point in loving him _now_, Potter?" I shouted, hating that I sounded hysterical. And then, I heard Blaise sigh from behind me. "Oh, just _fuck off_, Blaise!" I yelled, unfairly. After all, I'd _asked_ him to stay. But just then, I didn't care, and I turned back to Harry without even checking to see if Blaise really had left. "Well? What would I get from that?"

"Pride!" Harry shot back, also apparently too absorbed to consider Blaise. "Pride in what he was, and what he lived through. And pride in what qualities of his you see in you."

I laughed. "I don't _know_ any of his 'qualities'." I spat viciously. "I never, _ever_, will."

Harry looked completely deranged. "He was brave, for one. Like you." He snapped at me, and I resisted the urge to cover my ears with my hands. "He was clever, and witty. Like you."

"Shut _up_." I screamed.

"_Great_ with magic, like you." Harry continued obstinately. "Loyal…"

I grinned manically. "You want me to be like my 'father', _loyal_ like my father, and yet you want me to abandon my family?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He was loyal to those who deserved it." He elaborated, making a convenient loophole for himself. "Those who'd _earned_ it."

I threw my head back and laughed. "Earned it? And you think that _you've_ earned my loyalty more than Draco?" I was nearing hysterical. "You befriended me under false pretenses. You tricked me into being _open_ with you. You- you _lied_ at every opportunity, and used your knowledge of my circumstances to get me to feel more comfortable with you." He made a pained face, but I wasn't finished. "You made me _like_ you, Potter, and you made me betray the man who raised me, because I thought that you were the sort of person I should be friends with- or _be_ with."

"Estelle…"

I raised a hand, stopping him. "Now, the Malfoys you despise. They're the ones who came to find me before _anybody_ else when my mother died, who looked after me while I grieved. Who took me into their family at _no_ benefit to themselves, and rarely complained. Who paid for my expenses, treated me like a daughter, and who want me back even after I helped put Lucius behind bars."

Harry shook his head. "No. No, Estelle, you're looking at this all wrong."

I stepped up close to him, my eyes darting all over his face. And even after everything, being so close made me want to lean in and kiss him. "I'm looking at it the _only_ way." I said quietly. "You told me that my father was loyal to those who'd _earned_ it. The Malfoys have." The corner of my mouth turned sharply down. "You haven't."

And then I whirled around, ready to leave.

But Harry was there in a second, grabbing my arm. "No, Estelle, _please_!" He snapped. "Hate me if you really have to, but don't hate Sirius! That would have _killed_ him."

I gave a barking laugh. "Too late for that." I said bitterly. "Let go of me." He didn't, and I resisted the urge to rake my nails down his face and give him a few more scars. "Look, Potter, you finally saw fit to give me my father. And he is _my_ father. That means I can hate him if I want to."

And then I turned on my heel, ignoring that for the millionth time, I wanted to cry. Ignoring that behind me, Potter was standing stock-still, watching me go. Ignoring that I was leaving behind the last chance I would have to know about my father from somebody who loved him. Instead, as I boarded the train I focused on the scene in front of me- Draco snapping at Crabbe and Goyle while Pansy giggled by his side. Blaise lounging nonchalantly, one arm lazily draped around Jess. Carmeline gazing cheerfully out the window.

As I watched, Draco looked away from his cronies for a moment, and his eyes met mine. "Are you coming, Estelle?" He mouthed.

I steeled myself. "Always." I mouthed back, and, steeling my shoulders, I headed towards their compartment.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long! I''m afraid it's a little bit of an odd chapter- sort of more like a stream of consciousness, not a lot of action…  
>it's also a little disjointed at this time, but that sort of reflects Estelle's mental state.<p>

As always, thanks to my reviewers! So, **Ashu711**, **myhoneyclaire**, **The Agent of Fire**, **momorocks101ful**, **Katie**, **andiescandieee**, **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, **JuicyLucy921** and **Mask with a truth**.

You make me smile!

I am sorry that I couldn't make Harry and Estelle make up! It just didn't seem likely. But she _will_ get the journal- promise- and that will change everything!

Hope you all thought this was alright- I'm undecided and may change things later. Next chapter is the holidays, which means lots of pureblood society and developments…

Stay tuned, and I live for your feedback, so let me know what you think.

Now, **Agent of Fire**, you raised some very good points! When she was first considering going back to the Manor, the Lestranges weren't the foremost thing on her mind. What she was more worried about was how the Malfoys were going to react- knowing that they would accept her back was what made the big impression. Of course, had she been given time to think about it, she would have considered whether it would be safe.

Which she has done- just a little- in this chapter. She is _very_ concerned with her own self-interest (hey, Slytherin), but she has some Gryffindor tendencies at all, which is why she ultimately decides to go home –note: _after_ double checking with Dumbledore and analyzing it herself. She values the Malfoys more than she admits.

I hope that's a satisfactory explanation! If you think she's being a little illogical, you're probably right, but she has just suffered through an emotional upheaval- she wants to be around people who she thinks care for her.


	20. Chapter 20

I ran off of the train the second it pulled into the station.

Nobody bothered to call after me- they all knew it was better to simply let me go. And so, they watched impassively as I practically leapt off of the Hogwarts Express, only Carmeline venturing to call out, "Have a good holiday," as I ran for cover.

You have to wonder what sort of world we live in when Narcissa Malfoy can be described as 'cover'.

It turned out, though, that my running off of the safety of the train was a terrible idea. There were already photographers waiting, I supposed, for Harry. It was lucky, I reflected, that very few people cared about Lucius Malfoy's ward as much as Lucius Malfoy's heir, otherwise I might have attracted more attention.

As it was, though, I managed to slip through the throngs of eager first-years and dart over to stand in front of my aunt, hands clasped behind my back. This was the moment- the first time I'd seen her since Lucius had been arrested. I waited, burying my fear beneath a mountain of nonchalance and hoping it didn't show through.

She looked, if anything, slightly surprised to see me. "Oh." She said, and her eyes widened just a little, almost imperceptibly. In a way disturbingly reminiscent of Draco, she patted at her hair, checking that nothing was out of place. "Estelle."

I could feel my heart pounding nervously against my chest, but I kept my voice even and my face blank. "Aunt Narcissa."

There was a long and awkward pause, during which we simply looked at each other. In that moment, my Aunt seemed to me more open than ever before. Her eyes darted all over my face, taking in my expression, my demeanour. She seemed to be looking for something. I let her look. Then, with a sigh, her cold composure was back. "Draco did write to say that you'd be returning home with us." She said, sounding very matter-of-fact. "But I must admit that I rather doubted that you would…"

"I have nowhere else to go." I said, just as coldly. But then I sighed. "And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." But my mind drifted treacherously back to that little apartment in Paris, where my mother had sung bad 70s ballads and cooked awful food, and everything had always seemed sunny.

But she was dead. And the cool woman standing in front of me was the only other person who'd stepped up for the job. I was grateful to her - what I'd said to Harry rang true. My mouth curved up into a small, shy smile.

Narcissa just nodded. "Yes, well." I realised that she wasn't quite sure where we should stand with each other, either. "We have rather a lot to discuss- when we return to the Manor." I nodded obediently, and her eyes narrowed. "I will tell you now- there will be _no_ apologies." I had to resist the impulse to roll my eyes. Of course she would be telling me that she wasn't sorry for lying to me. But then she sighed sharply. "From _either_ of us. We both acted in the manner we thought best appropriate, and that is that. There's hardly any more to be said on the subject."

I felt affection welling in my chest. How very cool of her, how very business-like. How very, _very_ appropriate. Her take on events was one which nobody had really put forwards, and for some reason, it appealed to me more than any other. We both did our best- we both made mistakes. I'd expected her to punish me, and yet she did no such thing. That in itself was as close to saying 'sorry' as Narcissa Malfoy had ever come.

Our moment was instantly ruined. "Mrs Malfoy!" Somebody in a tweed suit called out. "Mrs Malfoy- a word on the incarceration of your husband…." Narcissa simply levelled the reporter with a steely glare. She didn't push me behind her at all, or attempt to shield me. I suppose she thought I could look after myself quite well. But it didn't matter, because at that moment, Draco finally emerged from the train, to a chorus of jeers from the other students.

And he didn't look like Draco. Not at all. Crabbe and Goyle were with him, looking even more grotesque than usual. The three of them were oddly swollen, and seemed to be… oozing slime?

"Estelle? It is Estelle, isn't it?" I turned around to see Mrs Crabbe standing behind me, hands clasped in front of her. Mrs Goyle was a huge, massive, lump of a woman, and she terrified me, but Mrs Crabbe was tiny. She was painfully thin and small, and always dressed up to the nines. Even in six inch heels, she barely reached my chin. It made me wonder how she'd ever given birth to Crabbe - he must've split her in two. She smiled at me, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I was wondering if you'd seen my son. He hasn't gotten off the train yet…."

I cast another glance back at Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, who were moving painfully slowly towards us. "I think you'll find, Mrs Crabbe." I said softly. "That he _has_." And then, I jogged over to them. "What happened?" I demanded in hasty French. Draco glared at me from within his newly ginormous head. "What happened?" I repeated, in English this time. "You went off to the toilet, and you never came back…."

Draco's swollen cheeks made it difficult for him to talk, but he tried. "Mudbloods." He managed. "We… Potter…" It was difficult to tell, considering that he was oozing what looked like watery pus, but I wasn't entirely sure that some of the moisture on his face wasn't from tears.

My eyes narrowed, latching on to Harry. He'd gotten off of the train a while before, and was speaking happily to a huge group of people, whom I recognised after a moment as the aurors from the Ministry.

_One missing, though_. That voice inside my head said wistfully.

_I don't care_. I muttered back, thrusting those thoughts away.

As I watched, Harry let out a laugh, and was clapped on the back by a tall redheaded man. He didn't glance back at Draco and Crabbe and Goyle… not even once. But of course not- they were beneath his notice. They were in the past. He'd administered his punishment and was done with them. They were, quite literally, slugs to him.

"Did you try and attack Potter, Draco?" I asked calmly, still watching the group of happy little Gryffindors. How dare they all look so… carefree! "Did you ambush him, and get more than you'd counted on?"

The look Draco shot me may have been outrage or anger, or betrayal, or maybe he was just in a horrible amount of pain- I couldn't tell because of the way his face had been distorted. I looked up at Crabbe and Goyle, and then back to Draco. "Attack him, if you want." I whispered, feeling anger build up inside of me. "But do it one on one- do it like a _man_, Draco. Make it something he can respect."

At that moment, Mrs Crabbe finally figured out what I'd meant, and rushed over, crying "Vincent!" in a surprisingly firm voice. Mrs Goyle wasn't far behind, and Narcissa brought up the rear.

Behind _them_, came the photographers. The sons of three Death Eaters, cursed to the point of exploding, while their Death Eater Mothers cooed over them- it was a Kodak moment.

Narcissa's gaze fell on Draco, cool and appraising. Ignoring the slime which was still rolling off of his face, she placed an elegant hand under his chin, lifting his head so she could look him in the eye. "Don't fight your father's battles for him." She said simply. But there was a wealth of love in those words. As I watched, she waved her wand, and Draco stopped oozing quite as much slime. On either side of him, Mrs Crabbe and Mrs Goyle were doing the same thing. "A bat bogey hex gone wrong." Mrs Crabbe said primly. "I'm not sure what made them swell… possibly a bad reaction from two different curses?"

I was mildly impressed that they were all being so calm and collected about the fact that their children had come off the train looking like massive slugs.

The press, meanwhile, had not gotten bored yet. I supposed they hadn't noticed Harry.

"Girl! You, blonde girl!" I turned around, one eyebrow raised. It was the reporter in tweed. "Are you the Malfoy Ward? Estelle Dahlquist?"

I looked at him for a moment, thinking to myself. I kept my face entirely blank as I considered my next move. And then, I erupted all at once. "That's a terrible thing to say!" I cried, forcing as much pain into my voice as I could manage. The man stepped back, aghast. "How could you make _fun_ of the suffering of children?"

He blinked, confused, as people turned to look at him. Tossing my head dramatically, faced him, arms folded. "These poor boys, not yet of age, are in _pain_, and you, sir, are _mocking_ that pain!"

"What in Merlin's name are you on about?" The man asked slyly, apparently catching on. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me.

I soldiered on, though. "And now you _swear_ at me?" An old witch nearby shook her head, muttering about 'scoundrels' and 'rogues' hounding children for sensationalist stories.

Sensing that I'd won, the man backed away. I watched him leave, smiling slightly. And then I looked up, only to see Lupin watching me, an odd look on his face. He'd clearly seen the whole thing, but I wasn't sure what he'd thought of it. Steeling myself, I tossed my head again, turning back to Draco.

But at that moment, two students walked past, and I heard one of them snort. "…Better than I'd hoped for, really. Clearly that was good work you did with the _engorgio_ charm- Malfoy looks like a huge bit of snot."

The other laughed. "What can I say? Harry taught us well."

And then I saw red. I darted out in front of the pair, eyes blazing. They were both Hufflepuffs in Draco's year, and I realised with a start that one of them was that prefect… Mac-something… Macmillan?

"Can I help you?" The other boy asked with a good natured smile. I wasn't wearing Slytherin colours- he didn't know that he was meant to hate me.

I ignored him. "Prefect, aren't you?" I asked Macmillan, my accent twisting my words a little.

He smiled. "You're Harry's friend…" He said. Oh no. Hadn't we already been through this enough?

"I'm _not_." I interrupted harshly. My eyes still fixed on him. "You think it's funny, do you?" They both looked confused, and I jerked my head in the direction of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. "That they're in _pain_." I might've just left it at that, if the other Hufflepuff boy hadn't cast his eyes over to my friends and _chuckled_. "Right." I said simply, and pulled out my wand.

The boy raised his eyebrows. "We can't fight _you_." He said.

"You fought my cousin." I reminded him, raising my wand.

The boy shook his head vigorously. "Yes, but your cousin is a _boy_." He said, apparently realising who I was.

"Besides." Macmillan chimed in, looking very uncomfortable. "You can't use magic at a _train_ station! It's against Wizarding Law…."

Seriously? What a goody two-shoes. I considered. "Fine." I said obediently. And then I jammed my wand into the waistband of my skirt and launched myself at him, fully prepared to claw out his eyes.

Unfortunately, somebody caught me before I could begin. "And _there_ she is." I heard Blaise's bored drawl as the Hufflepuffs backed away, shocked. "The Estelle we all know and despise." He seemed supremely unconcerned by the fact that I was thrashing in his arms- he just kept a tight hold, making sure I couldn't run off anywhere. "You ought to calm down." He looked up at the Hufflepuffs. "And _you_ ought to make yourselves scarce- because as scary as she is when she's in a fury- I'm _worse_."

I was just about to dispute that, when suddenly there was somebody else standing beside me. "What's going on?" Lupin asked, sounding very authoritative. "Mr Zabini- please put Estelle down."

I could practically feel Blaise's condescending smile. "Ah. _Professor_." He said sarcastically. "If I put her down, she might hurt the little Hufflepuffs- is that what you want?"

Lupin frowned, considering. "Hurt them? Ernie, Justin… what is going on?"

I wrenched myself free of Blaise, only to have him catch a hold of me again, lifting me bodily off of the floor so that my feet were kicking aimlessly in the air. "Have you _seen_ Draco?" I demanded. "Have you seen what they did to him?"

"Estelle!" I stopped writhing. Narcissa was standing before me, looking incredibly unimpressed. "Don't cause a scene, Estelle." She said coolly, her eyes passing over me to fix on Lupin. "Lupin." She greeted him, and he nodded.

"Hello, Narcissa."

She rolled her eyes. "Come now, as though we've ever been on first name basis." She said, and as though that finished their interaction, she turned away from him, placing one hand on my arm. "We are leaving now, Estelle- we have to get Draco home." Slowly, Blaise lowered me to the ground, and Narcissa acknowledged him with a nod, as though the fact that he'd been holding me in the air wasn't at all unusual. "Blaise. Do give my best to your mother."

It was a dismissal if ever there was one. Without a backward glance at me, Blaise was gone, although his fingers did linger on my shoulders just a little too long. Narcissa shot me a look, and with a dignified nod, I began to follow her. As I passed Lupin, he reached out to touch my shoulder. "Estelle-" he began, but I pulled back.

"You tell Harry Potter to stay _away_ from my family!" I hissed. "You tell him to leave us _alone_." As I spoke those last words, I cast a final glance back at Harry.

He was still standing with all of those people. The black auror who'd known my name, Professor Moody, a whole throng of redheads.

As I watched them, I fell behind Narcissa and Draco, and because I wasn't watching where I was going, I collided with a tall, gangly boy wearing a leather jacket.

"Oh, sorry, Miss." He said, instantly charming, and I looked up in shock.

"F-Fred." I said, before I could stop myself.

My favourite Weasley twin grinned at me for a moment, clearly trying to place my face, but having not a lot of luck. "Don't I know you…?" He drawled. "I mean- you clearly know me, but I'm _sure_ that I…." And then his gaze travelled up to Narcissa, who was waiting for me just a few steps ahead. "You're the Malfoy girl." He said, recognising me, but he didn't seem hostile. I nodded, meeting his gaze. He looked back at me, mirroring my action, and for a moment I wondered whether we might be able to have a civil conversation. But then his gaze hardened. "Not so sassy now that daddy dearest is in prison, are you?" He asked, still sounding jovial, but his eyes were hard. "I hope he _rots_ in there."

I strode off, hurrying to catch up with my family.

When would I learn- the Gryffindors would _never_ accept me. I had to stop hoping- I had to give up.

So why was it that _every _time I came into contact with them, my resolve broke?

….

I never did talk to Narcissa properly.

In fact, despite my rallying to come to Draco's defence at the station, I drifted into a semi-catatonic state upon returning home.

I think it was the manor. Just being around it made me feel caught between being on edge and being in a trance. I kept waiting for Lucius to appear around the corner, and waited for him hopefully. Once, I even wandered into his study, meaning to ask him about one of the many books I'd borrowed from the Manor's extensive Library.

Sometimes, I expected Bellatrix to show up.

Every shadow seemed menacing- every creak in the floorboards was a warning. I slept with the lamps in my room lit up- my whole room illuminated by a dozen floating candles. But I never could sleep when it was light, and so my rest was fractured, and constantly disturbed.

I became tireder. And the silence at the Manor was deafening. Nobody seemed to be talking, and suddenly it became apparent that Lucius' cool, condescending presence had somehow held us together. It didn't make sense, really, but I didn't like to think too much about it. I didn't want to think about anything much, not really. Talking to Narcissa wasn't an option, and neither was talking to Draco, so I simply stayed away from them.

Thinking back, I'm not sure exactly what I was doing for those few weeks. I ate, sometimes, but I never went downstairs unless I had to. And sometimes, I slept. But other than that? How did the days fly by? How did it all pass so quickly? It hardly mattered, in any case.

Because we can skip over that- skip over the endless 'whys' and 'hows' that spun round and round in my mind.

We can skip over the owls that came daily- hate mail from muggleborns, from so called 'blood traitors'. Death threats, howlers, cursed letters- the works. Narcissa intercepted most of it, but the incessant tapping of talons against glass rang through the manor. On the few occasions I saw the others, I got the impression that we weren't alone in this suffering. The Crabbe family, the Goyles and the Notts were all in the same situation. I felt responsible for that.

When I couldn't sleep, sometimes I'd walk around the Manor grounds at night. But I stopped that after somebody actually managed to pass by the wards and set fire to the orchard. Narcissa put it out almost straight away, but it was scary still. Not the fire- that was easy to get rid of- it was the _hate_ that was scary.

I remember turning to my aunt, my eyes streaming with tears because of the smoke, and saying, "Why can't we do _something_? Why can't the Ministry do _something_?"

She'd sniffed, smoothing her hair back as though we were having a cup of tea in the foyer, as opposed to putting out a fire in the grounds. "The _Ministry_, Estelle?" She'd said coolly. "Why on earth would they help people like _us_?"

I knew the truth, though- she wouldn't ask them. How could she, when they'd arrested her husband, ruined her life? Her pride wouldn't allow her to let them tear us apart, and then beg for their help. But I understood that well enough.

It was on my walks that I also noticed that sometimes, Draco and Narcissa weren't home. I wasn't sure where they went, and I wasn't sure I wanted to go where they would go, but it hurt that they didn't ask, or even tell me that they were going. It was as though, despite all of their words to the contrary, they didn't want me anymore. Which meant, effectively, that I'd burned all of my bridges for nothing. I wanted proof that I hadn't chosen the wrong side, but as I walked around the huge Manor, knowing that Draco and Narcissa had run off somewhere else, I felt unsure.

At the same time, I _really_ didn't want to know where they'd gone. Which I suppose means that on some level, I already knew. With Bellatrix, or with people like her- whichever- I knew that they were with Death Eaters.

Death Eaters like my father.

And so the holidays passed by in a blur. The Malfoys were in hiding, in retreat. No longer grand and imperious- they were skulking in the shadows, along with the sole heir to the Black name. That last bit shouldn't really have been big news, and in fact I wasn't sure that it was. But even though I was fairly sure (based on the reactions of Narcissa, Lupin and others, and the fact that Narcissa had even managed to get custody of me) that some people had known, it had never been talked about- it had been ignored, dismissed.

Until, on the day that school finished and all the students returned home from Hogwarts, parents heard their children gossiping about how Sirius Black had fathered a child- the Malfoy ward, Estelle Dahlquist. Instantly, suspicions would have been confirmed- half-baked theories proven correct, and the taboo which had prevented people from talking about it (because everybody knows that gossiping is a sign of bad breeding) had been obliterated. Now, my analytical mind told me, it was out in the open.

That's as much as I really wanted to think about on that topic.

That's about all that you need to know, really. My life was as dull as it could possibly be, given the circumstances, and I was feeling intensely lonely. That part of that loneliness was self-inflicted didn't make a difference. I'm an adolescent- we can't always be logical.

And so, we come to one day, perhaps a month into the holidays, when my usual routine of being melancholy in my room until Draco and Narcissa disappeared, was disturbed by a summons. Whenever it was time for dinner, or somebody needed to see somebody else, we had a system. In each of the guestrooms was an embroidered plan of the manor. If you believed the legend, these had been commissioned by Brutus Malfoy, after the family had migrated from France back in the 1600s. He'd bought the plot of land in England and built the Manor. They say that he was welcomed by the nearby village after he hired all the men to be builders, then hired their women to painstakingly embroider dozens of blueprints of the house.

After that, Lucius said that he killed the lot of them, making the layout of Malfoy Manor a secret to anybody who hadn't stayed there. And only the privileged stayed at the Manor- our less savoury guests belonged in the dungeons, or the old servants quarters which had been tricked up to look fairly fancy back in the 1800s.

These little blueprints, aside from being a seriously creepy reminder of just how lax the Ministry used to be on Muggle rights, also helped people know when they were needed. For instance, if an individual was being summoned by the master of the house, the room to which they were being summoned would glow gold on the map in their room. If the lady of the house was summoning them, it would turn silver. If it was the heir, it would be bronze.

Nobody else had the ability to access the blueprints and summon people.

I'm only going into detail on this because on this particular morning, as I lay on my bed, thinking about nothing in particular- one of the smaller salons on the bottom floor began to glow an unusual colour- a sort of dark gold.

That made my heart plummet- Draco's bronze was clearly turning into gold- clearly, the house was giving up on Lucius Malfoy.

I clomped down the stairs, pushing my hair out of my face and yawning like a hippo. "Draco?" I called out liltingly, hoping that he wouldn't answer- that I could go and hide a little more. "Drake? Are you there?"

"In here, Estelle." He was standing at the entrance to the salon, hands clasped behind his back. He looked very thin and very pale, with dark circles beginning under his eyes. As we looked at each other, he smiled tiredly. "Not sleeping, I see?"

It felt so odd to be having a conversation with him. I felt as though I was observing the whole thing from a distance.

"You look like a vampire." I told him bluntly, making a supreme effort to seem like myself. Never was I more aware of how far I was slipping away from everything I'd been than when I had to see other people. "You can't talk." With a shrug, he turned on his heel and strode into the study. I followed him obediently.

By the time I got inside, he was already sitting at the table, tapping his fingers impatiently against the wood. "We have received an invitation." He told me as I stepped inside and took the seat opposite him. Smoothly, he pushed a small sheet of parchment across the table to me. "The Zabini house-elf brought it by this morning."

I raised an eyebrow. When Wizarding families sent house-elves to carry messages it indicated exclusivity, or ceremony, or sheer pompousness aimed at impressing the recipients. Tradition dictated that this was either some sort of deep dark secret, a proposal, or a really nice party.

"Tell Blaise I'm flattered, but I want to play the field a little more." I said, deadpan, sliding it back to Draco.

"Don't be stupid." Draco snapped. "He's a _Zabini_- he'll marry somebody from a pureblood line." I pointed to myself, and he rolled his eyes. "Somebody _officially_ from a pureblood line, and _not_ illegitimate."

I sighed. "I wonder what dear Papa Black would have to say about that." I said hollowly. When Draco didn't answer, I looked up to meet his eyes. He was watching me worriedly. With a supreme effort, I smiled. "I'm not _really_ wondering that." I told him sarcastically. Still, he said nothing. "I'm _fine_." I snapped, and then realised that that sort of undermined my whole nonchalant attitude, I cleared my throat, visibly straightening and pasting a sweet smile on my face. "Really."

Draco eyed me for a moment more, then sighed, tapping the piece of parchment. "It's an invite- to the Zabini's Quindecennial Ball. _Very_ exclusive. Very posh." He forced a smile onto his face. "Last time it was on, I was just a baby, but I've heard the stories, and I suppose it would be much like the Annual Nott Ball." He shot me a glance. "You remember what that's like- Everybody tries to outdo each other-better clothes, better entrance, better _children_." He seemed bitter- that was fair enough, considering he was apparently a status symbol. Who competed over _children_?

Purebloods.

I looked at him for a moment, unblinking. "Sounds very _boring_." I said, flicking the invite disdainfully. "No wonder they only have it every seven years." The more I sat here, the more I experienced the tension between us, the more certain I was that Draco and I had to talk. He hadn't forgiven me yet, and I wasn't too happy with him either, and it felt _wrong_. He was my best friend. He was my _brother_- I wanted things to be the way they were.

He had no idea I'd decided this, of course. He was still thinking about the blessed party. "Last time the ball was on was back when Blaise's father was still alive." The expression on his face told me that this was significant. "It's very daring of his mother to continue the tradition- especially seeing as how she isn't really a Zabini- not anymore.."

"Daring or obnoxious?" I asked liltingly.

Draco didn't answer me. "We're invited."

"Oh." I shrugged. If I could just get him to _admit_ he was angry, then we would have to talk. It was lucky I was good at antagonising people. "Send my apologies."

"We _have_ to go." Draco insisted. "We have to prove to the Wizarding world that the Malfoys are not cowed by this- this setback!"

"Interesting." I commented wryly, and Draco frowned.

"Interesting that we don't give up?" He asked lightly, and I shrugged.

"Actually, I found the whole 'we don't give up' thing a little trite. I meant that it was _interesting_ that you consider your father's incarceration after attempting to murder a group of teenagers a 'setback'.

I shot him a look out of the corner of my eyes- perhaps _now_ we would have the talk I so desperately felt we needed to. Perhaps finally we would discuss my part in Lucius' capture.

But Draco said nothing at all about any of that, demonstrating the patience of a saint. He lifted his chin. "The Malfoys have faced worse."

I snorted, leaning back in my chair and kicking my feet onto the table. "Now _that_ is a story I'd like to hear." Somewhere inside me, I felt my stomach sink at the realisation that once again, Draco and I would dance around the tension between us, avoiding the issue. Just as had happened in _every_ little conversation we'd had since we got back from school.

It was quiet for a moment- Draco didn't reply right away, and I relaxed. But two seconds later, he slammed his hands down on the table- hard- and the noise made me lose balance. My chair fell back onto the ground, taking me with it, limbs flying in all directions.

I landed with a crunch on the hard floorboards, and when I looked up, Draco was standing over me. "I don't understand." He said through clenched teeth. "Why you don't just say what you're thinking." The pathetic part of me, the part I'd been trying to fend off, wanted to curl up into a little ball, or shout at Draco til he stopped being right about things. He looked down at me, disgusted. "We'll be going to the ball." He snapped. "It's next week, and it is _important_. You can't mess this up for us- understood?"

And then he ran off.

…..

So, I decided to mess up the ball for them.

Narcissa's absolute lack of interest in me had sort of become even more pronounced after I'd gotten back from school. I think she'd decided that just because she was legally responsible for me didn't mean she had to interact with me at all.

This didn't bother me.

I thought.

But the truth was, that I was on edge all the time, and I couldn't relate to either her or Draco because of how guilty I felt, and that made me sad, which in turn made me fall back on my favourite defence mechanism- being a complete brat.

I knew that this ball was very important. Draco and Narcissa were talking about it constantly- you could practically see the waves of tension rising through the floorboards as they discussed everything:

'Oh, Draco, this international witch is going to be there… You must remember to greet her as though she isn't an old bore.'

'Oh, Mother, should I wear blue or red? Only, I don't want to appear affiliated with houses other than Slytherin, but to wear Slytherin robes would surely appear to be a desperate attempt to reinforce my blood pride…. But there will be foreign witches and wizards there, and they won't know the first thing…'

I stayed away. It hardly mattered to me. In fact, for every plan they seemed to make, I half-heartedly formulated ways to counter it. I was vaguely aware that the whole thing was going to be a huge production. No detail would be left unexamined, no little stone left unturned. Except for me. See, they'd mostly decided to ignore me, as far as I could tell. I was relying on this- while they ignored me, they wouldn't see what I was doing to embarrass them

So when the night of the ball arrived, instead of picking up the dress robes that Narcissa had left for me, I picked up a dress I'd bought in Paris, just before Lucius had come to take me back to England.

It was lovely- at the time, I'd thought it looked just like a fairy costume- short, with a pink tulle skirt ballooning out like a tutu, and shot through with tiny silk flowers.

Of course, it was about the furthest from dress robes that a person could get without wearing denim shorts or a leotard.

So it was perfect.

On the night of the party, I pulled it on, remembering how I'd felt when I'd bought it. It had been on a whim, I remembered. My newly thirteen year-old self had felt so rebellious, so mature bringing it up to the counter. The lady at the counter had glanced down at me, askance, and asked if my mother knew that I was spending so much money on such a _short_ dress. I'd told her that I thought my mother would've loved it. She'd always let me wear tutus when I was little.

And then the lady had smiled and asked if it was for a special occasion. I'd told her that it _would_ be.

And here that occasion was- two years later.

It still fit- although it was a little snug around my chest. But I'd allowed for that. With a devious grin, I pulled out a faded black denim waistcoat.

My mother would've been so proud of me.

"Estelle?" Draco was calling from downstairs. "Estelle, are you ready yet?"

I checked myself in the mirror. I'd lost weight, I realised with a start- my cheekbones looked much more pronounced now, my eyes looked ridiculously huge. I'd coated them in grey eyeshadow and black liner- they looked positively silver.

_Your father's eyes_, a voice told me. I scowled. "My father's _nothing_." I said out loud. And then, still staring at myself, I smiled sadly. "My mother's hair, though…" I twisted a curl around my finger. I hadn't messed it up, today- instead, I'd let it fall into its natural loose ringlets.

"Estelle." Draco's voice sounded closer. "Estelle, I will _drag_ you to this ball!"

I straightened, looking away from my reflection and sweeping my cloak off of my bed, pulling it over my dress just as Draco came into the room, wearing steel grey robes and looking mightily uncomfortable. He blinked, to see me standing there, quite ready. "You're dressed." He said absently. And then, his eyes narrowed. "You _are_ dressed, aren't you?" He asked warily, noting that my cloak didn't reveal anything of what I was wearing. "Mother would have a fit if you did a nude run across the Zabini's foyer…"

I strode past him, head held high. He caught up to me as I skipped down the stairs, already feeling more like myself with the promise of a scandal in the air. Trouble made me feel _alive_, lately. "You will behave, won't you?" He hissed at me. "There's been enough happening lately without you making a fool of us…."

"I'm not a Malfoy." I pointed out, cutting him off. "They tell me I'm a _Black_."

He shook his head. "I don't _understand_ you lately, Estelle." He said softly. "I thought you chose us."

My lip curled down. _Valid question_, that pesky voice pointed out. I ignored it. "I _did_." I told him with a scowl, then stepped up to the fireplace. Last time I'd stood here, Lucius had been by my side. And I'd been furious with him. Scowling even more, I pushed that thought from my mind.

Narcissa didn't ask if I was ready. Satisfied that I was there, she reached out to the mantelpiece, but her hand passed by the flu powder, instead landing on the invitation. "Ready?" She asked. Draco nodded, and I crossed my arms and shrugged. Apparently aware that this was as enthusiastic a response as she was likely to recieve, she tapped the invitation once with her wand.

"We're not flooing?" I asked Draco, and he shook his head.

"Please, Estelle. We'd get soot on our robes- no, the invitation is a portkey- that's standard etiquette with these events." He paused. "Besides, the party is in the Zabini family home- we're headed to Florence."

"Firenze." I corrected snidely, remembering Blaise's proud little five-year-old face as he'd told me so. And then something occurred to me. I frowned. "Wait- I thought there were tricky laws about international travelling…"

"Yet another reason why we're _not_ flooing it." Draco said testily. "You really think the Ministry would approve international floo visas for the families of convicted criminals?"

Oh. I preferred the whole 'otherwise our clothes will get dirty' reason.

"Draco, Estelle." Narcissa prompted, and we both reached out, placing a finger each on the invite.

"This crowd, Estelle." Draco said quietly. "Don't- don't get upset, alright?" I glanced at him, confused, and he shrugged. "You- they…. Don't listen to them too much. We've forgiven you, that's what matters." I looked over at him, and he must have seen the fear in my eyes, because he looked instantly contrite. "Nothing will happen to you!" He insisted quickly. "In fact, it's an international ball- there will be _hundreds_ of families there… you hardly need to worry."

An _International_ Ball? My mind whirred with the possibilities. To merit that title, at least all the families of Europe would be present. Which meant the upper crust of French society would be out full force. Which meant that tonight I would get the stellar experience of once again confronting my old tormentors from Beaxbatons.

And _that_ was supposed to reassure me that the evening would be fun, even if half the English guests wanted me dead?

Yes. Balls are fun.

I wanted to scream and wail and demand Draco explain. Instead, I nodded stiffly. "Well, I won't then." I told him snootily.

Narcissa looked at each of us and I sighed in anticipation. "Don't speak too loudly, or too often." She said, as she had every time we'd ever attended a pureblood function. "Take only one drink every hour. Make sure that drink is nothing stronger than champagne. Do not smile unless you are smiled at first." Draco nodded seriously. "And for heaven's sake, don't congregate with the other children- you're both old enough to mingle with the adults, but _only_ if they speak to you first." Her eyes fell on Draco. "You are not to spend all evening with the Parkinson girl, that is, if her moronic father has managed to wrangle an invitation. And _neither_ of you are to mention Lucius." Her eyes turned to steel. "You are to answer any such _ill-bred_ queries with 'we are not concerned', if you must speak. Otherwise, a nod of acknowledgment will do." Now she looked to me. "Bellatrix has held her tongue." She said smoothly. "But rumours are still circulating about your… involvement in the battle at the Ministry. We are _not_ confirming these- understood?"

Draco and I nodded. "Yes, Aunt Narcissa." I said sweetly, just as Draco chimed, "yes, Mother."

She looked at us for a moment more, and it struck me how much she had aged in the past few weeks. "Very well." She said softly. And then, with the odd sensation a portkey always brings, we were spinning through space and time.

We landed quite smartly in the foyer, at the entrance to the ballroom. Through the archway, I could see throngs of people milling about, and hear the eerie sounds of a string quartet playing a waltz. Between us and the door was an older, very severe looking couple, who stepped forwards into the room.

"Freiherr and Freifrau Wolfskehl, and daughter, Kostanze Wolfskehl." A voice lazily proclaimed as they descended.

My mouth curved into a malicious little smile. I'd known that the ball would be a 'big deal'- I hadn't realised it would be _this_ posh. All the better to shock people- _especially_ people who despised me, as at least a third of the guests would. I could feel anticipation building inside of me- this would be brilliant.

"I thought it was like the Nott ball?" I asked Draco liltingly. He scowled.

"It _is_- sort of." He looked unsure. "It's very important. I hope you're going to behave."

Now was my moment. Ignore me, will you, Draco? Not once did he try and find me, try and talk to me. Well, he would find it difficult to ignore me now. Him _and_ Narcissa. "Of _course_." I said soothingly, unclasping my cloak.

"Oh _Merlin._" Draco hissed, as my cloak fell in a pool around my feet, revealing my pretty muggle dress. "I should have known…"

I shot him an imperious look, and he clenched his hands into fists. Narcissa was slightly more elegant. "Now, Draco." She said softly, resting a hand on his arm. "Don't cause a scene." Then her eyes met mine. "Usually, I'd think only children would need a house elf to supervise their dressing- obviously I've trusted you with this _minor_ responsibility before you were mature enough to cope." Her eyes were cold. "But we are here now- we shall make the best of this."

And then, with impeccable grace and etiquette, I stepped into line with them, moving towards the entrance. "Mrs Narcissa Malfoy, heir Draco Malfoy and ward."

Hmmnn. I was 'ward' now, then. I lifted my chin and attempted to look nonchalant. I was an heir, too, though they appeared to have passed over that little fact. The second I turned seventeen, I would inherit the Dahlquist title, and coming from such a family, even as a bastard I would merit invitations to this sort of occasion all the time.

We descended into the room. It was a huge, cavernous hall, perhaps even larger than the great hall at Hogwarts, and definitely larger than anything at the Manor. It seemed to glow gold and silver- the floor was tiled in burnt gold and white gold, but each tile was individually patterned in a shade slightly darker than its own with a delicate brush. The artist within me was entranced, and I was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything else, twisting my head this was and that way to try and examine the tiles without falling down onto my hands and knees and actually peering at them.

But the rest of the room was just as beautiful. The walls were lined with tall windows and pillars carved with ornate swirls, which were enchanted to wind around each other in time with the music. Huge candelabras lit up the room- it was stunning.

"Hm." Narcissa said, sounding unimpressed. "I'd forgotten the ballroom was this… gaudy. Italians, _really_."

"Narcissa- _darling_!" A voice chimed, low and melodious. "How wonderful to see you, especially after the events of…" The witch, because it was a witch, didn't finish her sentence, but instead shot Narcissa a significant look and tapped her nose.

I thought Narcissa would die from such exposure to ill-breeding. Instead, she wrinkled her own nose, looking at the witch as though she was so extremely tedious that it took effort to concentrate on her, and nodded. "Oh. _Mrs Parkinson._" She said, stressing the impersonal greeting. "We wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Parkinson?" I murmured to myself, cocking my head to try and see Pansy in this woman's features. She had the black hair, yes. And perhaps the eyes…?

"Oh. _Look_." They say 'speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear'. There's a lot more truth to those old sayings than anybody realises. I turned to see Pansy standing in front of me, her mouth twisted into a mean little smile. "Estelle… such an _interesting_ ensemble. I didn't realise it was Halloween."

I smiled and nodded. This, at least, was easy. I could fight with Pansy in my sleep. "Oh. So you just dressed like _that_ for fun?" I indicated her dark red dress robes. Actually, she looked almost beautiful. Her hair looked very black against the red, and her usually sort of florid skin seemed almost rosy. She was exactly the sort of girl the Malfoy party would have been proud to bring forwards. Still, I didn't feel any need to tell her that.

My little smile made her frown, and she patted her robes angrily. "These? These are the _height_ of fashion!"

I shrugged. "For _vampires_." I suggested, and Pansy stepped forwards, smiling viciously.

"What about you?" She asked softly. "Is that muggle dress a sort of tribute to your late _father_? We all know how _he_ felt about muggles…"

I winced- I'd had a nightmare the night before- one I often had, where I could hear them all screaming… those thirteen muggles they'd said he killed. Seeing Pansy's eyes light up with victory, I forced a smile onto my face. "No, _we_ don't." I said, my tone clipped. "In fact, I don't think…"

"There she is!" Somebody tittered, gliding towards me. I blinked in surprise as I was pulled into a hug. "Oh." Just as instantly, my assailant pushed me away from herself, holding me at arm's length and beaming. "Oh, I'm so _glad_ it has all been confirmed. Oh! You look _just _like your father."

I blinked, looking around for Draco or _somebody_ to save me. Hell, I would have taken Pansy! But she'd disappeared, along with Draco. "_Pardon_?" I said politely, making my eyes huge and innocent and thickening my accent. "I'm sorry- I don't speak English."

The witch frowned. "Oh _dear_- no that's no problem. We'll just have to…" She pulled out her wand, and on seeing my eyes widen, she smiled sweetly. "Not to worry, dear. Just a SIMPLE TRASLATION SPELL." Like all people confronted with somebody who doesn't speak English, she started to shout. I'm not sure why people do that- if they would just think logically for a minute, they'd see that increased volume doesn't really make English any less incomprehensible to foreigners.

And this woman, already slightly tipsy, was _not_ somebody I wanted waving a wand in my face. I smiled innocently, inwardly cussing like a sailor, and praying that somebody- _anybody_- would rescue me… and at that moment, an elegant dark hand reached out, gripping the other woman's wrist.

"Now, Selene." A low, melodious voice said coolly. "There's no need. Miss Black speaks English _very_ well."

I felt a surge of anger within me. "it's Dahlquist, actually." I told her, "though my close friends call me 'ward'." I'd dropped thick French the accent. After all, there was little point continuing this farce. The first witch- Selene- frowned sharply.

But I wasn't looking at her. Really, nobody _could_ look at her with Mrs Zabini in the room. I think I've mentioned that she was beautiful, but that was through the eyes of my five year old self. Now, I could appreciate just how stunning she was. Huge, almond shaped eyes, a perfect nose, high cheekbones and a delicate chin. Her hair was long, lustrous and deeply black, but somehow it seemed to emit a reddish glow. I felt like gaping at her, but I knew that that wasn't how people behaved in polite society. So instead, I smiled, keeping it small and not showing my teeth. Narcissa always said that woman shouldn't show their teeth when they smiled. "You would be our gracious host, I suppose." I said with a polite nod. And then, even though it had been drummed into me for years that a noble _never_ introduces themselves, I inclined my head and drawled. "Estelle _Dahlquist_."

The corner of her mouth turned up just a little, but her eyes remained cold. "Miss _Black_." She insisted, her words slightly accented. "So very _thrilled_ that you could make it." He voice was so cold, the words she was saying so full of repulsion that I almost recoiled in shock.

As though amused by my reaction, her lips curved into a tiny, cruel smile, as her eyes dragged up and down me, with an air of practised disdain. "Hmn." She said simply, once her eyes had returned to meet my gaze, as though my appearance was _most_ disgraceful, but also exactly what she'd expected from somebody like me. It was the most patronising, condescending thing I'd ever experienced.

Yup. This was the woman who'd spawned Blaise.

"Nephthys." Somebody said coolly, and I felt a hand resting on my shoulder. Narcissa- of course. That woman could sense a scandal in the making from a mile away. "How wonderful you look."

Nephthys (Blaise's mother, clearly) tilted her head upwards, smiling at my aunt. "Narcissa, my darling." She said, and her voice was as melodious as could be. "So pleased you could attend."

Narcissa angled her head just so, in acknowledgement. "I would never even have _thought_ of missing it." She said with a careful smile. "Indeed, I was ever so _pleased_ to hear that you'd be having it… I thought that, perhaps, after the unfortunate death of _dear_ Raphael at the last ball, you would let the tradition slide." My mind worked fast- was Raphael Blaise's father? I knew that he'd taken his father's name, and that, seeing as he'd been her first husband, his mother had always kept it.

But Nephthys was not at all fazed by Narcissa's reference. She merely smiled tightly. "I did think it best to keep with traditions." She told Narcissa. "No matter how troubled the times we live in." Slowly, languidly, she reached out a hand, resting it on Narcissa's arm. "I know we oughtn't talk of such things at balls." She said with a low, melodious laugh. "But I feel I must say- I know what it is to lose a husband."

"Or six." I murmured to myself in French. But apparently I was so insignificant that Nephthys did not even register when I'd spoken.

Narcissa nodded elegantly. "So kind of you to say." She said. "But then, we hardly need think of dear Lucius as 'lost'."

Nephthys batted her long eyelashes and shot Narcissa a dazzling smile. "Very well- 'misplaced', shall we say?" Narcissa answered that with a cold smile, and she waved a hand elegantly in dismissal. "We need not destroy the evening with pointless _feelings_- rather, I think we should enjoy the night! Just know that you have my support. And of course, your dear son is welcome to visit Blaise during the coming months, should the atmosphere in London prove to be too much."

Strangely, despite how much of a cow she'd been to me, Nephthys seemed incredibly sincere. Her eyes were dark with empathy and understanding, and the little nod she gave Narcissa seemed laden with significance. I supposed a woman famed for killing her husbands knew a little bit about being hated.

Narcissa was far too well-bred to reply to such an obvious offer of help. So instead, she inclined her head gently, and Nephthys, clearly understanding, clapped her hands together with a beatific smile. "How lovely. Now, men are in short supply tonight, but women such as us can never fail to find a dancing partner. Shall we?"

Feeling slightly mollified that she'd included me, I stepped forwards, only to see her turn on her heel and glide away, arm in arm with Narcissa.

"That _whore_." I snarled in French, and an old man in puce dress robes nearby cracked his champagne flute in shock.

"Manners!" He told me sternly, also in French, and I bobbed a quick curtsy, smiling sweetly until he wandered off, still grumbling. I hardly cared- I was still fuming from Nephthys' rudeness.

"You should take that as a compliment." I heard a voice breathe in my ear, and with a smile I leant happily back into Blaise's chest. I hadn't even realised how much I'd missed him, how much I'd missed having _somebody _who didn't care what I'd done, even if the only reason he didn't was because he literally had no morals.

"That your mother wants to kill me?" I asked sulkily. "She wouldn't even look at me, but with the others she was charm personified."

I felt Blaise's chuckle reverberate through his chest and leant a little closer to him. "She is only rude to the people whom she thinks might look as good as her." He told me, as though it were obvious.

I scoffed. "She thinks _I_ look as good as _her_?" I asked, and I could practically _feel_ the condescending smile on Blaise's face.

"Not right _now_, naturally." He said, sounding bored. I spun around to shoot him an accusatory glare. I would never have thought Blaise could wear anything other than black, but perhaps in a nod to the festive occasion, he was wearing charcoal instead. The colour made his eyes look blacker somehow, and his skin was practically luminous against the grey. I'd forgotten how pretty he was, but I was reminded then. He met my gaze calmly. "I mean- at the very least, look at what you're wearing… you look like some sort of cake, or Christmas decoration."

"Cakes can be pretty." I muttered sulkily, tearing my gaze away from him and plucking at my tulle skirt.

Blaise continued, ignoring me. "But perhaps, _maybe_, sometime in the future, you _might_ look as good as her- that's what she's preparing for: a rivalry."

That seemed ridiculous. "Rivalry?" I asked, smiling. "She's at least 20years older than me… I think we're in different leagues."

"Dahlquist, have you _seen_ my mother?" Blaise drawled as she glided across the room in front of us, looking like a painting come to life. "She's in every single league. And she tops them all."

I chuckled along with him for a moment, but then the crowds parted for a moment and I caught sight of Theo Nott, glaring at me from across the room. I turned my face into Blaise's chest, hiding.

Blaise didn't like public displays of affection that didn't end in sexual gratification, but even though he sighed exasperatedly, he wrapped an arm around me and said nothing at all while I rested my head against him. "Come on." He said, taking my arm after he'd had just about enough of my hug. "I need to take you over here."

"Over where?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes, leading me to a small alcove, half hidden from the rest of the room by a thick velvet curtain. "What is this?" I asked, stepping into it. It was pretty- a little romantic nook, tucked away from the party and leading off onto a private balcony- but I didn't know why we were here. I turned to Blaise with a tired smile. "You're not going to propose, are you?"

He shrugged, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "No." He said bluntly. "Mother just thought it would be best for you to be kept out of sight for the evening."

I froze halfway through a retort. I'd thought that tonight I'd be rebelling, I'd thought I'd be showing them that I wasn't anything like a Slytherin princess. I'd thought I'd be able to shock them, to establish myself as _me_. I'd assumed that the invitation meant that nobody was taking me seriously, that they'd just expected me to be a perfect little heiress all of a sudden.

But I'd been wrong. They'd never thought of me as perfect, or anything near to it.

I was currently the token pariah of pureblooded society. And that didn't make me a scandal or a trendsetter or a novelty- it made me an awkward inconvenience. I felt a thrill of rage. "Really?" I asked through gritted teeth. "She's _embarrassed_ by my presence?"

Blaise just nodded again. "Of course." He said carelessly. "She knows you'll ruin the party atmosphere." That was Blaise- always choosing bluntness over etiquette. It was lucky he came from such good stock, or he would have been outcast from polite society by now.

At least I was keeping my cool, I told myself. At least I was managing to stay dignified in the face of such utter humiliation. Of course, just as that thought crossed my mind, I wave of anger washed over me, and in a manner which _definitely_ demonstrated that I wasn't a Slytherin princess, I snarled and drove my fist into the wall. Frowning, but ultimately unconcerned, Blaise blocked my would-be punch easily and I swore angrily. "So why invite me, then?" I demanded, struggling to keep my cool. Or regain it, as it were.

"Because I asked her to." Blaise said, in very much the same detached tone you might use to order a cup of coffee. I stared at him suspiciously for a long moment, and he glowered back at me. Finally, he broke the stare, gazing off into the distance. "Draco says that you don't eat." He told me, matter-of-factly. "That you've lost weight, and I can't help but notice that you're looking rather thin and unappealing at the moment." I raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't looking at me. "I hadn't realised this before, but you have rather _crude_ features- it's especially evident now that you're so skinny."

I _wouldn't_ punch my host. I _wouldn't_ punch my host.

Blaise was clearly completely indifferent as to my reaction. He fingered his champagne flute with utter boredom. "He _also_ says that you've barely come out of your room since you returned from Hogwarts, and sometimes you cry at night." This couldn't get more awkward.

"Why are you doing this?" I groaned, burying my 'crudely-featured' face in my hands.

Blaise shrugged. "I _do_ very much enjoy making you uncomfortable." He told me, then shot another glance my way. "But also, Draco says that you won't talk to him, or when you do, you're such a brat that he ends the conversation before he kills you. So I thought I'd try." He took a little swig of champagne.

"Of course I don't talk to Draco." I snapped, ignoring that last bit. "What could I _possibly_ say? I helped get his father locked up!"

"You could say that thing that people say when they do the wrong thing?" Blaise suggested, apparently unable or unwilling to say the word 'sorry', even when it wasn't him apologising.

I shook my head. "It isn't enough." I said softly. "It can never be."

Blaise's scoff was awfully disdainful. "Oh, yes." He drawled, leaning elegantly on the balcony. "But moping about your room and making no effort to talk to him is definitely more on the right track. That's _definitely_ closer to enough."

"You don't get it." I hissed, spinning away from him. "I destroyed Draco's home. I ruined his family."

Blaise was at my side in an instant. "See, now, I think _you_ don't get it." He snapped. "You _are_ Draco's family. And now that he's lost one member, he needs everybody he can have around him." He took another drink. "Draco thinks you're _angry_ with him." He said, calming down again. "He thinks you're so abrasive and prickly because you hate him now." He shrugged. "I _did_ try and tell him that your lack of social skills and charm don't necessarily indicate that you dislike him, but he insists that you've gotten worse."

While he was speaking, I'd been trying my hand at pacing dramatically, but the despite my very best frown and purposeful strides, the constant rustling of my tulle skirt was seriously limiting my ability to glower. Blaise, still leaning against the balcony, watched me with lazily. "Why would _I_ hate _him_?" I asked, scoffing. "He didn't do anything to me."

There was a short silence before Blaise answered. He seemed to be trying to be almost careful, as though he were considering his words. "Well." He said, looking at me with thoughtful eyes. "He didn't tell you that you were spawned by the resident Runaway." I raised an eyebrow, and he waved a hand. "You know- Sirius Black."

"Oh." I said, my throat feeling a little dry. But then, with a jolt I reminded myself that I didn't care, and laughed. "Oh, _that_. No, I'm not angry- I wish I'd never found out at all." There was a brief pause, and then, with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug, I began pacing again, my tulle skirt swishing cheerfully around my thighs.

He watched me with that same, careful look. "Liar."

"No, really." I said. "Everything would've been easier if I'd never found out."

"That isn't what you're really thinking." Blaise said, sounding annoyed. "Honestly, I don't _enjoy_ talking about feelings- I avoid it. But even _I_ know that these little conversations only work if you tell the truth."

"Of course that's the truth." I snapped at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be _absurd_." He told me. "You're angry with Draco, _and_ Narcissa. You just haven't admitted it yet." He took a triumphant drink of champagne. "That's why you're being such a brat. And why you're wearing that ridiculous muggle… thing." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of my outfit.

"Dress." I corrected automatically, but my mind was miles away. As little as I wanted it to, what Blaise said had rung true. But these were things which I didn't want to confront. Not here, at a party surrounded by my rather angry peers. Probably not at all. The only way to get away from this was with a subject change- I had to move from being defensive to being _offensive_. We had to talk about the one thing which Blaise never tired of talking about.

We had to talk about _him_.

"Why are _you_ really here, Blaise?" I asked, glancing up at him innocently. "Why are you _here_ and not out there?"

He looked down at me with a tired sigh. "Why am I _really_ here?" He asked, and then sighed again. "Well, probably because those people out there? They're all boring." He looked away, and I grinned- my ploy had worked. "But _you_, well you're…" I waited for it- I was sure it was coming. Blaise Zabini was going to compliment me. But then he wrinkled his nose. "Well, you're incredibly frisky when you're drunk, aren't you?"

I slapped his arm angrily. "I am not." I insisted. He just levelled me with a look. Alright, perhaps I was. "Well, I'm not drunk." I pointed out.

He smiled a cold little smile. "So… let's change that, shall we?" And he poured some more champagne in my glass.

…

I managed to sneak away the second his back was turned.

That wasn't difficult- Nephthys may have wanted me out of the picture, but I doubt she'd wanted her almost-of-marriageable-age son hiding behind a curtain for the entire ball. He was the only true Zabini at the damn party- it was his job to _host_.

And so, whole troops of people were looking for him, particularly the eligible daughters of Europe's pureblood nobility.

Clothilde von Striesburg walked past, literally calling for him (those Austrians- no manners), and the optimistically titled Principessa Livia Cirollo peeped through the curtain, smiling prettily and beckoning him out. There were others, but they were apparently so insignificant that he didn't bother naming them.

It was the little heiress Contessa Octavia Sforza who finally managed to distract him for me. They'd been friends when they were little, or their fathers had been friends, or their neighbours' brothers' doctors had gone to school together… I wasn't paying attention, and she dismissed me early on, anyway.

"Oh." She'd said upon seeing me. And then with a vicious little smile. "_Bene_! Voglio un'altra." She'd announced loftily, thrusting a champagne flute into my hands.

Blaise had rolled his eyes. "Octavia, Estelle isn't a house elf." He drawled.

She'd raised one perfect eyebrow. "Ed allora?" She asked. "So what? She can get me a glass- it is _easy_." And then she'd let loose a stream of rapid Italian, ignoring me completely. Blaise, being Blaise, didn't defend me or even look at me, so I was perfectly set to wander away.

Outside, the ball was in full swing. It was wonderful just how obvious the difference between the different pureblood nationalities was. The French, Italians and Spanish were whirling around the dance floor, or laughing on the balcony, or chatting animatedly around the place. The English, I am sad to say, were more subdued. They hung about the corners, sticking together, looking wary. Some were better at masking their unhappiness than others. Narcissa was one such example, I suppose Nephthys, as a resident of Britain, counted as another. The few upper-class British pureblood families who _weren't_ involved in the blood supremacy ideology were slightly more cheerful, but on the whole, we painted a rather dour picture.

I suppose the whole community had been affected by the recent events at the Ministry, but it was still a little humiliating to see.

"Ah. Look who it is." I heard somebody sneer in French. I steeled myself, preparing to turn around. I'd known that this moment would come, I just hadn't expected to be completely alone at the time. In fact, in the two seconds I'd had to contemplate the fact that I'd be seeing the Beauxbatons crowd, I'd imagined myself flanked by the cream of English society, perhaps a couple of Germans and _definitely_ some Italians.

After all, you needed a veritable army to intimidate the snobs of French Wizarding Society.

I took a deep breath, turning slowly around and pasting a look of bored incomprehension on my face. Philippe Thibault, soon-to-be Baronet Thibault when his decrepit father finally got around to dying, was in short a bastard. Not in the literal sense, like me, but in the much more colourful, figurative sense, meaning he had shit for brains and thought he was God's gift. The best way to annoy him would be to imply that he was insignificant.

_So_ insignificant, in fact, that I couldn't remember him. "_Pardon_?" I asked liltingly, and then, drawing inspiration from the charming Octavia Sforza, I clapped my hands together happily. "Of _course_- yes, another champagne, please." With an aloof smile, I held the glass out for him to take.

But Philippe was always clever. He ignored my outstretched glass, meeting my gaze with a knowing look. "You grew up." He said now, quite simply, and suddenly I felt like I was eleven again, with the whole lot of the Beauxbatons clique dancing around me, jeering.

I sighed. "Yes, that happens when time passes." I said calmly, flicking a non-existent speck of dirt off one of my nails. "We've met, then?"

Philippe wasn't listening- that would've been _polite,_ you see, so he couldn't do _that_. Instead, with trademark style, he reached a hand into the crowd around us, seemingly pulling a flute of champagne from nowhere and passing it to me. "You should be drinking." He told me, sounding bored. "When you dress like _that_, you need to be drunk to survive the parental onslaught."

I shrugged, taking a sip. Clearly, there was little point keeping up this farce, and besides, the combination of the champagne I'd already drunk and the smooth tones of my mother tongue, which I hadn't heard properly in years, was soothing and pleasant. "I don't have parents." I told him matter-of-factly.

He frowned. "I suppose not." He agreed. "But there _are_ two ladies who are glaring at you right now, with the sort of anger only a mother can muster." He grinned lazily. "_Three_ glaring ladies, actually, if you count my mother." He leaned in uncomfortably close. "She thinks you're _beneath_ me."

It was odd, I thought, that he was being so civil. Really, it caught me off my guard. He was speaking to me almost as one speaks to an old friend, or a confidante.

Leaning back a little, I scoured the crowd for the ladies he meant. Narcissa was standing over by one of the arched windows, looking furious, and across the way, Nephthys Zabini was taking little breaks from her intense hosting duties to shoot me accusatory glances. Perhaps she was still angry about Blaise…

I glanced back up, hoping Philippe had wandered, off, but instead, in very much the same manner he'd used to fetch me alcohol, he'd managed to pluck another boy from the throng. A tall boy with carefully neat dark hair and bored eyes. "Guilliame." He drawled, nodding in my direction. "Remember the Dahlquist bastard?"

Guilliame Lavigne looked me up and down with an air of distinct disinterest. "She grew up." He told Philippe, quite clearly weary of the whole situation. Philippe was nodding so proudly you'd think he'd played a key role in this apparently impressive 'growing up' process of mine.

Very carefully, I frowned, tapping my black-painted fingernails against my champagne flute. "Now, wait…." I said, deliberately slowly and thoughtfully. "You… oh. Of _course_." I smiled slowly and took another sip. "The Beauxbatons crowd." They waited for my reaction. Pausing for effect, I lowered my glass, frowning. "I remembered you being taller."

There was a slight, but easily discernible moment of silence. "Well." Guilliame said finally. "You _grew up_." Philippe made a face of grudging agreement. "We did say that, didn't we? That she grew up?" Once again, Philippe nodded, and Guilliame shot me a smug look. It occurred to me that perhaps the boys were already slightly drunk, and just still quite adept at acting dignified no matter the situation. It was a surreal experience for me to be standing there with them without wanting to cry. It felt foreign and alien. When I was at Beauxbatons, these slightly older boys had made my life a living hell. I could hear the taunts and jeers echoing through my head even now. And yet, while remnants of my suffering at their hands were urging me to get away as fast as I could, my newer, more confident and antagonistic self wanted me to stand my ground.

And besides, they seemed fairly comfortable just talking to me, quite civilly. But nothing lasts forever, and just as that thought crossed my mind, and I considered staying, Philippe turned to Guilliame, took a sip of his champagne, and casually said six words which ruined my evening. "We ought really to tell Laz."

My stomach plummeted, and my 'newer, more confident and antagonistic self' fled completely. "No." I said as calmly as I could while my hands had started sweating. "No, I don't think we really need to tell Laz."

Guilliame shot me a look. "Don't be silly, Estelle." He said, with the ease and familiarity with which those with ideas above their station speak to their betters. The second I thought that, I felt a thrill of guilt- all it took was five minutes at an occasion like this, and I was already falling back into old habits, from days when all I had to hold over their heads was the fact that my family, scandal-prone as it was, was miles above theirs. "He ought to know. Laz _likes_ to know these things."

"He shouldn't get _everything_ he wants." I suggested with a little laugh. This whole situation called for more champagne. The thought of being confronted with Lazzare Beaufils- the leader of the Beaxbatons clique- had filled me with fear. Self-consciously, I rubbed my bare arms with my hands, trying to warm myself. "Actually, I think I see…" I peered theatrically into the crowd, searching for anybody I could claim I needed to talk to.

"Oh, who could be more important than _us_?" Philippe asked, taking my arm. "Let's go and find Laz!" Mirroring his move, Guilliame stepped up to my other side, grabbing the crook of my elbow, and together they glided forwards, dragging a reluctant me behind them. I was tempted- _very_ tempted- to give up all pretence of maturity and dig my heels into the floor, but I knew that Philippe and Guilliame were strong and stubborn enough to drag me the whole way.

"Maybe we should get some more drinks?" I suggested, but both the boys said nothing- they were like homing pigeons, trained to return to their master. Getting desperate, I tried again. "If you put me down, I'll let you touch my breasts." Guilliame raised his eyebrows, and Philippe shot me a smug grin, but neither even paused. Their previous ennui seemed to have vanished entirely- they were almost jubilant as they pulled me towards my doom.

"Laz just won't believe it." Philippe told me with a small smile. "He always used to say that you had a habit of turning up where you weren't wanted- how exciting that you've proved him right!"

I hissed through my teeth. His offhand comment had suspended my panic attack completely, allowing me to focus on just how _horrible_ he was. "I _am_ wanted." I told them sternly, and Guilliame scoffed, waving away my statement with a light laugh.

"Oh _please_, Estelle." He said. "Every little English prude we've dragged you past has shot you daggers. And it isn't as though _we_ were particularly pleased to see you." Wow. Thanks. He caught sight of my disgruntled expression and sighed sharply, as though my childishness was grating on his nerves. "And I saw what happened when you entered-they _confined_ you to a private room! Even the Zabinis don't want you here."

Perhaps, considering how little Blaise liked to be used, I ought to have been cleverer. I ought to have made a scathing comment about how when I turned 17 and took up my title, I would have all of Europe grovelling at my feet, and when that happened, I certainly wouldn't forget the disrespect with which the heirs of the families Lavigne and Thibault had spoken to me. Or better yet, I could have implied that I didn't know specifically _who_ they were, but that surely such ill-breeding indicated that they were from the _lower_ end of the social spectrum. Instead, I tossed my hair and sniffed. "Oh, I would say that at least _one_ Zabini wants me here very much."

On my left, Philippe scoffed, skilfully manoeuvring us past an elderly Swedish couple. "Is the Zabini heir looking for a new way to irritate his mother?" He asked scathingly. "I was wondering why she was looking at you like that…"

"Honestly, Estelle, you must know that he's just going to use you." Guilliame told me, sounding unusually concerned and kind. "That's what they do. You've seen how many husbands the mother has gone through."

I put on my best scathing face. "Think what you like." I told them with a sniff, and then, finally figuring out the best angle to take with them, I turned my nose up and said. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the political machinations of the more _important_ Wizarding families."

Philippe's happy smile turned into an unimpressed frown. "Lets get her to Laz." He said sourly. "Right now."

"Get _what_ to Laz?" A voice cut in, and I glanced over my shoulder. Standing in front of one of the ornate columns was a tall figure in black dress robes, casting a stark contrast with the gold room. His skin was pale, but his hair was as dark as his robes and pushed back from his face so that his piercing eyes and pointed chin were emphasised. His gaze raked over our little party with complete disinterest, skipping me completely as though I were entirely unworthy of notice.

But his rudeness had no effect on either Philippe or Guilliame. Both of them, upon seeing him, had begun to smile maliciously, and already their faces had taken on a devilish cast.

"Look, Laz!" Philippe said, pushing me forwards a little. "Look what we found!"

His eyes fell on me, and one ink black eyebrow raised disdainfully. "Yes?"

Philippe looked utterly devastated. "We thought you'd be a little more excited than _that_." He complained, taking a swig of champagne and eyeing a nearby heiress.

Laz's eyes never left me, but his exasperated sigh was clearly aimed at his friends. I wanted to run- to leave right then- but his gaze had me frozen. All of a sudden, I was a child again, cowering in a corner while the older children jeered, locked outside the castle while it started to snow, hiding inside a cupboard and praying that the other students would leave soon, so I could escape them. Everything I'd become or been since those days disappeared in a rush, and I suddenly felt exposed and utterly alone. All because of Laz's eyes. His gaze. Even as this thought crossed my mind, he took a delicate sip of champagne, then pawned his half-empty glass off on a passing house elf. "And why," he asked, "would you think I'd be _excited _to see my little cousin."

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A/N: I am so so sorry for how long this has taken... everything's very busy at the moment, so I can't promise regular updates any more, but I'll try for one every couple of weeks! I'm so sorry to have left you where I did in the story.

On that note, thanks to my reviewers, **The Agent of Fire**, **myhoneyclair**, **katchile94**, **ashu711**, **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, **andiescandieee**, **Mask with a truth**, and **XxrudexbutxnicexX**.

I hope you've all stuck with me.

Now, on to business. I know it's really annoying that Estelle doesn't know about Sirius yet. I'm getting fairly frustrated myself. Remember, she is a child, and she's sick of losing people. With Sirius she can control that loss by never letting herself like him.  
>Besides that, now that she's no longer at school, she's nowhere near anybody who has something to gain by telling her the truth about him. It's in Draco and Narcissa's best interests to keep that hidden from her.<br>Her conclusions ARE illogical, and it is obvious. But she's in denial... stick with her another chapter. There isn't long now.

and to **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, don't worry. as you might have guessed, the Zabini ball is somewhere where Blaise/Estelle scenes are more likely than not to happen.

Thanks guys, and again, sorry for the wait.

Lazzare Beaufils (Estelle's cousin) will be explained. Promise.

Xx


	21. Chapter 21

Whenever I was away from French pureblood society (pretty much always, for the past two years) I tended to think of Draco, Narcissa and Lucius as my only family.

I thought of myself as isolated- almost entirely alone in the world. I thought of my mother as a social outcast, with little to no family who'd ever cared about her. I thought of myself as the very _very_ last witch or wizard with Dahlquist blood.

The reason for _that_ little piece of selective memory loss was standing in front of me now, eyeing me with such deep disregard that I wanted to weep with frustration.

Lazzare Beaufils, or 'Laz', was the worst of the worst. He came from one of the less prestigious but most ambitious families in France. In fact, they say his lineage traced back to Charlemange's first mistress, and from there on out went through periods of great prosperity and great scandal.

Despite being just a foothold up from the petit bourgeois, the Beaufils family boasted web-like connections to all of the major families in Europe. But, for the past 200years, it had been most closely aligned with one family in particular- the cream of French Wizarding Society: The Dahlquists.

Lazzare's mother Cassiopée had been, before her rather un-illustrious marriage to Romain Bonfils, a Dahlquist. She was the half-sister of my maternal grandfather's wife. That seems a tenuous connection, until you realise that my maternal grandfather's wife was in fact his second cousin.

My family history runs sort of like an episode of that muggle show- Gerald Springer, or whatever. My mother was the product of a scandalous affair between Etienne Dahlquist and his step-sister Noelle Ludvenksko. He didn't marry her, choosing instead to follow convention and marry his second cousin, Ginette Dahlquist.

And it was _her_ half-sister who gave birth to the Devil-Spawn Lazzare Beaufils.

This was all explained to me by a well-meaning professor on my very second day at Beauxbatons, after little Lazarre had cornered me and used a spell to cut hanks of my hair off while his friends laughed. "Don't mind him, little one." The professor had cooed, while I sobbed and begged her to help me regrow my hair. "He's _jealous_- if it weren't for you, if you hadn't been found, _he_ would be the next Dahlquist heir." I had been crying too much to pay close attention while she prattled on, but years later, I'd understood. Even if I didn't _feel_ like it, I was a powerful figurehead in European Wizarding Society. But Laz was just the opposite. He _did_ feel like he was hugely significant to the upper class, and he had ruled Beauxbatons, but in reality, he was nothing.

And in a convoluted way, that was my fault.

Which was why, at that moment, he sighed dramatically and glanced away, as though unable to bear the sight of me. "It's been such a long time, Estelle." He said, his voice slow and lazy, so much so that the words seemed to slur into one long sound. A sound which always made me shiver.

With an effort, I stood my ground. "I'd say 'not long enough', Beaufils." I said, making a point of addressing him by his last name. I hoped that he'd understand that, in my own little way, I was rubbing his nose in his own lack of social standing. "But I think that's it's been _just_ long enough." I curved my lips into a shaky smile. "After all, I can stand up for myself now."

His eyes remained fixed on me for a long moment, and, just as had happened from the first moment I met him, I felt as though he was analysing me- stripping away my defences one by one, examining what was underneath, and finding me less than worthy. He took a causal sip of champagne. "No." He said simply. "No, I look at you, and find that you haven't changed at all." His expression didn't change even a little, but his eyes darkened. "I think that by the end of the night, you'll be that little girl crying in the corner that we all know and love."

Just then, I felt that he was probably correct in assuming that. But that didn't really mean that I had to show him this. I batted my eyelashes charmingly. "Yes." I agreed. "Yes, the stress of having such a respected legacy to live up to _can_ be trying." I smiled tightly. "You're _so_ lucky, Beaufils, that you don't have to deal with all of the stress that comes with the label of 'Dahlquist heir'."

From behind me, somebody scoffed. "More like 'Dahlquist bastard'."

Ah. Guilliame. I'd forgotten about him and Philippe. Without taking my eyes off of Lazzare, I smiled viciously. "Well, we agree on the _Dahlquist_ part." I said snidely.

There wasn't really much anybody could say to that. Of course, Lazzare could never be included under the label 'anybody'- he was far too special to be grouped with the masses. And he'd _never_ allow himself to be considered common. "Do you know what would've made all of this much _much_ easier, Estelle?" He said, looking away from me and wrinkling his nose. "Is if your whore of a mother had died _earlier_ instead of later, and not had you at all. Or perhaps your whore of a grandmother, or _her_ whore of a mother…"

"Charming as ever, I see." I said, clenching my fists, but keeping the polite smile etched onto my face. "That should come in useful while you spend your entire life trying to claw your way out of social obscurity." I kept my voice cool. The Malfoys had taught me a thing or two about classism- I knew what to say to the Nuevau Riche. And after practicing with Philippe and Guilliame before, I felt completely able to tackle Lazzare's huge ego. "You may even be able to use it to get yourself a _promotion_. After all, if one cannot succeed in the aristocracy, they can always do quite well as a _career_ man."

Pureblood nobles didn't work- this was as high an insult as possible. Lazzare's nostrils flared and he clutched tightly at his champagne flute. "You know." He said conversationally. "My mother actually _wanted_ me to talk to you. She tells me that, sadly, you're past the age where you are likely to die of natural causes." He paused and elaborated considerately. "Cot death, or a bad case of dragon pox, or a fall. And as such…"

"You're planning to hire a hitman?" I asked liltingly.

He shot me a look. "No, actually, _her_ advice was to seduce you." My face must have frozen in a look of absolute horror, because he nodded sharply. " Yes- she says that if I cannot inherit the Dahlquist name, I may as well edge my way into it through… _other_ means." The look which accompanied that sentence was laden with significance. Somehow, I felt as though he'd already considered me in that way, and been so very disgusted that it hurt to look at me.

"I respectfully decline." I said sweetly. "The expectation is that I marry somebody of my _own_ class." His face flushed, and I innocently rested a hand on his arm, buoyed up by what I saw as my victory in our little verbal spar. "Believe me, Lazzare- were I a _petit bourgeois_, you would be my first choice."

He smiled tightly, and continued as if I hadn't spoken. "But I haven't given up hope that you might die of _unnatural _causes." His eyes flamed. "After all, I can't help but notice that your family has a tendency to be weak-minded, and somewhat prone to suicide. I mean, there's your long-dead halfwit uncle-. There's the suicidal grandmother." He paused, lost in reflection. "Actually, didn't the degenerate uncle commit suicide, too- the one who liked _art_, of all things?" He beamed. "How wonderful! And of course, your sluttish mother continued _that_ cowardly tradition- but then the shame of you would drive _anybody_ to suicide."

That was a low blow. And one I'd been dealt every single day I'd attended Beauxbatons. Of _course_ Aurelie Dahlquist took her own life- how could she live seeing what she'd brought shamefully into the world? The problem was, a tiny part of me believed it. After all, she left, didn't she? And, as was becoming more and more apparent, she had done so without making any preparations for me. It was as though she _didn't_ care. And that was a hard truth to deal with.

When I was younger, words like Lazzare's would make me cry. But now, when I'd come so close to actually emerging victorious from an altercation with the King of Beauxbatons, I just couldn't give up. But there was nothing I could say back to him which would hurt him as much- I'd exhausted my supply of insults.

Still, there were _other_ ways to hurt people, besides through words. Ways not _normally_ engaged in halfway through a social function, but as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

I would have launched myself at him and clawed out his eyes, except that suddenly there was an arm around me. "And here you are." Blaise drawled, sounding unimpressed. "Making new friends, as always."

"Reuniting with old ones." Lazzare said easily, watching me attempt to scratch his cheeks with an infuriating lack of worry.

"Blaise." I said sweetly, not stopping my attempts to reach him. "This is my _distant_ cousin, Lazzare Beaufils."

Blaise adjusted his grip on me so that he could restrain my arms more easily, then looked Lazzare up and down with casual flicks of his eyes. I stopped struggling, curious. I'd never really considered what would happen if Blaise and Lazzare met, but I realised now that this would be an epic battle as they attempted to out-disdain each other. "Ah." Blaise said, his tone cool and distant. "A Beaufils?" Lazzare gave a slow inclination of his head, clearly smug that Blaise had taken note of his family name. I smiled in anticipation as Blaise continued with a small, annoyed frown line appearing between his eyes. "I hadn't realised that we'd invited the minor nobility."

Lazzare's eyes flashed as he realised that Blaise would not be a potential ally, nor another of the advantageous connections which he was so fond of making. "I believe your _lovely_ mother chose her guests based on their calibre and style, rather than their social standing."

Blaise had set me down by now, but I wasn't moving towards Lazzare at all. Instead, I was watching eagerly as Blaise tore him to shreds. I would have killed for popcorn at that moment. Blaise lifted his chin arrogantly. "Evidentally." He said with a patronising smile, and then turned to me conspiratorially. "These _little_ families." He drawled condescendingly, as though Lazzare weren't standing within earshot. "They have such a _limited_ understanding of the systems we use when selecting guests. Their grasp of social niceties is always sadly lacking." I almost squealed with delight. Ignoring me, Blaise turned back to Lazzare. "Don't worry." He said, enunciating his words very clearly, as though Lazzare were deaf or stupid. "You're here now, so you may stay."

A round of applause would perhaps have seemed a little out of place at that moment, but I was very tempted. Lazzare, however, was undaunted. Using survival mechanisms passed down through generations of Beaufils, he turned the focus back to me, the weaker of his adversaries. "So." He said coolly. "You _did_ manage to make some friends in England."

I lifted my chin as Guilliame and Philippe sniggered from behind us. "Well." I said, not wanted to appear cowardly in front of Blaise. "Good breeding attracts good breeding."

"Good breeding?" Lazzare asked, one eyebrow raised. "My dear cousin- you're wearing a pompom."

My smile quivered, but remained. "Those who are truly elite can appear so whatever they choose to wear." I said slowly. "Only the _pretentious_ need to fall back on following the latest fashions like a religion." Beside me, Blaise shot me an annoyed look, and my eyes travelled away from his face, down to his designer robes.

Oops.

Still, rather than switch sides (as I had often seen him do when his taste and/or breeding had been called into question) he remained staunchly next to me. I loved it- it felt like we were double teaming to destroy my evil cousin. "Let's not quarrel." Blaise said then, his voice completely and utterly full of exasperation. Okay- maybe _not_ quite double teaming. "Quarrelling at functions is hardly the way to set an example for the commoners." This was said with a sharp look to Lazzare.

Lazzare, however, remained oblivious. "I find it odd that a Zabini is so openly keeping company with Estelle." He said easily, taking another sip of champagne. Neither Blaise or I bothered to dignify that with any sort of acknowledgment. Instead, we waited impassively for Lazzare to make his point. We didn't have to wait too long, in the end. "Forgive me for bringing this up." He said, mock apologetically. "But I was under the impression that your sort was fairly picky when it came to consorts."

"Consorts?" Blaise asked tightly, and the same time as I, raising an eyebrow and brimming with scepticism as I thought of his mother's multiple husbands, drawled, "picky?"

Lazzare looked from Blaise to me, and then shook his head. "I do apologise." He said. "How common of me to gossip- I feel almost _ashamed_."

Once again, Blaise stiffened, and with a dangerous tone of voice, snarled, "gossip?" I, meanwhile, had to hold back a disbelieving scoff as I repeated, "ashamed?"

I think Blaise and I realised at the same time that our responses were getting ridiculously in sync. Logically, what needed to happen was for one or the other of us to just shut up for a little bit, but as we glared at each other, it became apparent that that wasn't likely to happen. As one, we turned back to face Lazzare. "You aren't ashamed." I said accusingly. Blaise said nothing, just stood there, brooding.

Lazzare shrugged. "Guilty, as charged." He agreed easily. "_I_ have nothing to be ashamed of."

At the oh-so-subtle, yet oh-so-significant way Lazzare stressed the word 'I', Blaise's dark eyes darted up to meet his. "I wish you'd just _say_ what you're thinking." He said coolly. "And spare us the tedium." But before Lazzare could, Blaise was speaking again. "Or rather, I wish that you _wouldn't_. We all know where this is going."

Lazzare blinked innocently, before abruptly deciding that Blaise would prefer it if he played it straight. Suddenly, his whole demeanour changed. He relaxed a little, took a swig of champagne rather than his previous genteel sips, and ran a hand through his hair. Only his eyes remained unchanged, deep, dark and calculating. You could almost see the gears in his head turning as he attempted to work out how he could spin this around and win over the Zabini heir.

"Very well." He said easily. "Estelle is a bastard. _You_ are from one of the purest lines in the Wizarding worlds. It's an odd match."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm from one of the best pedigrees around." I snapped, annoyed. But Lazzare just smiled at me like the cat who'd gotten the cream. It took me a moment to process why. But as I thought back over the past few seconds, my scowl fell a little as I processed what Blaise had said at the same time as I'd spoken.

"It _isn't_ a match." He'd insisted. I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes, unsure how I should feel about his sudden desertion. Surely not surprised- Draco had as good as told me that Blaise wouldn't be interested in me that way because of my illegitimacy. Well, betrayed? No, not betrayed, I decided as I gazed at Blaise thoughtfully. I hadn't really seen us as any sort of solid alliance. Offended? Hardly.

Well then. Disappointed?

I shook _that_ thought from my head quick smart.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, but rather than interrupting with a snarky comment, Lazzare let it drag on, grinning maliciously as Blaise determinedly refused to meet my eyes, and I stared accusatorily at him. Perhaps it only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed much longer by the time I'd finally managed to drag my eyes away from him and say. "Of _course_ not, Lazzare. I don't have anything with _Blaise_."

Mimicking his earlier tone, I stressed Blaise's name, feeling a wave of satisfaction as the implications of my sentence hit both boys. "So you're with somebody else?" Lazzare asked boredly, as Blaise intoned dismissively, "you don't have anything with _anybody_."

I shot him a small, knowing smile, then looked back to Lazzare. "None of your business, Lazzare." I told him with a sniff.

He smiled predatorily. "You don't want to tell me who." He said with a knowing nod. "Because you _know_ that I won't be impressed."

I stepped up, squaring my shoulders. I no longer felt as though Blaise were my ally, but by the same token, I didn't feel I needed him. "Oh you'd be impressed." I told him calmly. "But I don't really feel any need to impress you."

"Liar." Lazzare said boredly. "You always were a liar." Then he turned his attention back to Blaise. "Have you met my mother, Zabini?" Blaise raised an eyebrow, and I folded my arms defensively.

"I don't think he _wants_ to meet your mother." I said snidely, and in a stellar example of my bad luck, at that very second, Cassiopée glided past me to stand next to her son.

Cassiopée Beaufils, nee Dahlquist, was the epitome of a French bitch. But, admittedly, in her cobalt dress robes, cut to perfection, and with her hair in an elegant chignon, she was at the very least a well-dressed French bitch. She always had been. And, again, as always, she slid over through the crowd like she owned the room. She never had forgotten what it was like to be one of the elite, even though it had been at ten years since the Beaufils had really been considered a part of the 'in' crowd. Romain Beaufils had lost a huge portion of the family fortune a few years back, but through her sensational charisma and general aura of importance, Cassiopée had managed to drag her husband's family up from the depths. Over the past few years, she'd worked tirelessly to further the family, combining the prestige of the Dahlquist name with the Beaufils' reputation for tireless social climbing. Despite Romain's inability to make any sort of profit, the family continued to progress socially, ever so slowly.  
>And that was due in entirety to the charm of Cassiopée and her son.<p>

That charm was out in full force now as she faced Blaise. "Ah." She said, her voice a low, smooth rumble. "I see you're making friends, Lazzare." Her eyes fell squarely on Blaise. "This is Nephthys' son, is it not?"

Blaise inclined his head. "Madame Beaufils." He said, with a not-so-subtle stress on her lack of title. "A pleasure." I could tell he was bristling at the familiar way with which she'd referred to his mother. It was doubtful that a Beaufils would have any connection to a Zabini, no matter how elegant she seemed.

"Your mother has thrown a lovely ball." Cassiopée said, glancing coolly around herself. "Quite charming." She paused, looking at him, "it is a pity we haven't seen you at any of the French balls. I'm sure Lazzare would be happy to bring you along."

Now Blaise was bristling for real. While from an equal family, such a conversation would be welcome, from a Beaufils, it was just plain rude. "If I wanted to attend, I would accept the invitations." Blaise said curtly.

There was a pause in the conversation, during which I watched Cassiopée, my closest living relative on the Dahlquist side.

When I'd first met Lazzare, between fits of crying and hiding under my bed, I'd had the presence of mind to wonder why I hadn't been sent to live with _him_. His mother was, after all, my very closest living official relative- related undisputedly to my mother.

The truth came out later. At the time I was discovered, Cassiopée, on advice from her husband, had refused to acknowledge me as a Dahlquist. It didn't matter that my mother had been identified, or that I was practically her clone- she disputed my claim from the very beginning. I don't really know her reasoning- perhaps that I was adopted, or that _Maman_ herself was not a Dahlquist. It doesn't really matter why, but she dismissed me quite publicly as a fraud. Now, when I think back on it, I'm flattered. After all, not many five year olds are considered capable of fraud- clearly, she thought I was special. Anyway, she ended up looking like a fool, because Narcissa had my claim verified almost straight away, and I was proved to be, without a doubt, a Dahlquist.

In an impressive breach of etiquette, she still has yet to accept me. Which is probably why this entire conversation was being conducted as though I were invisible.

Cassiopée had clearly realised that she was taking the wrong tactic. By being familiar with Blaise, she had taken a gamble, and that gamble had failed miserably. Now I watched as she attempted to salvage the situation with varied results. After getting an initially bad impression of Cassiopée, Blaise was quite clearly on high alert. Though he was still standing casually, one eyebrow was raised in perpetual disdain, and his gaze wandered terribly, as though they could just not quite keep his attention. A part of me really wanted to believe that Blaise was doing this for me. But that wasn't the case. Not even a little bit. As I watched them, I absently speculated about how Cassiopée could have made such a faux pas when talking to Blaise. This sort of socialising, this sort of charm, was exactly up her alley. The only thing which might have affected her, the only variable, would have been… me?

Her invisible niece. This was going to be lovely. I took another sip of my champagne, admiring the silence. "So." I said, emboldened by the alcohol, "Madame Beaufils." She turned to me, shocked. I grinned. "I hear you suggested that Lazzare seduce me."

Blaise almost choked on his champagne.

The conversation lagged after a little bit, but it didn't matter, because before too long, Blaise was pulling me away with a final cutting remark directed at Lazzare, and we were striding far, far away from my nightmare.

We walked in silence for a little while, Blaise nodding imperiously at the various guests attempting to get his attention. "I've been looking for you." He said, sounding annoyed. I shrugged, feeling unfairly angry with him.

He didn't try to speak again for a little while. And then, "You didn't particularly _like_ that cousin, did you?" Blaise asked offhandedly, grabbing my arm and tugging me in the right direction. It was an odd question, but after a moment's reflection I understood that Blaise was just verifying that I hadn't been offended by his rudeness towards my relatives. At the same time, I realised that we were heading for my little nook again. Apparently, it was time to hide me once more.

I shot him a look. "I don't particularly like _you_." I said angrily. But I couldn't help but smile gleefully as I remembered the look on Lazzare's face. "But I like him less."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Oh, I _am_ honoured." He drawled, and then met my gaze, his eyes dark and thoughtful. "You aren't angry at me, are you?" He asked dismissively. "Because you have no reason to be." Before I could protest, he'd looked away from me, exasperated, "I don't know _how_ I'm the one who's been landed with babysitting you tonight." He sighed. "Look, I discussed feelings, and I was… understanding." I scoffed. "You could've at least stayed where I put you."

I whirled around to face him. "I don't stay where anyone puts me!" I hissed at him.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, but before he replied, and old plump witch in elegant robes toddled past us nodding regally first at Blaise, then at me. "Good evening." She intoned.

Well-bred as we _sometimes_ were, Blaise and I wiped the scowls from our faces, smiling reservedly. "Good evening." Blaise drawled, and I nodded my head elegantly. "_Bonsoir_." I murmured in as ladylike a way as I could. We held our polite expressions as the witch waddled past, but the second she was gone, we turned back to each other, spitting like cats.

Neither of us spoke for a moment. "You're weak." I told him finally, and probably unfairly. "And your hair is just ridiculously shiny."

Blaise looked less than impressed, but rather than respond, he shoved me unceremoniously through an arched doorway. "Stay." He commanded. "I'll be back in a moment."

Annoyed, but beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, sighed and looked around. He'd pushed me outside of the castle itself, into a little enclosed court yard made all out of dark stone like the castles from fairytales. It was summer, still, and so the brick walls were topped with flowering vines, which had been enchanted to glow in the darkness, emitting a gentle sort of light which made it difficult to see, but I could just make out tall towers beyond our courtyard, glinting in the moonlight.

And that darkness was why I didn't immediately realise that I wasn't alone. I'd sort of sighed dramatically, and made to lean against the wall, only to find that this particular wall was soft, warm, and gave a sleazy sort of chuckle as I touched it.

"_Merde_." I hissed, jumping forwards.

Somebody laughed. "Gutter mouth." A voice said in thickly accented English. "You said she was a gutter mouth, didn't you, Malfoy?"

I peered into the darkness. "Estelle?" That was Draco's voice, and his hand touched my arm briefly. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I looked around me, making out the vague shapes of the pureblooded youth of Europe.

Octavia Sforza was languishing dramatically on a settee against the far wall, while Livia Cirollo was sitting on a high wall, kicking her heels against the stone and swigging from a champagne bottle. Theo Nott was standing in the corner, one arm around Kostanze Wolfskehl, with another Hogwarts student I eventually placed as a sixth year Ravenclaw - Meredith Brudenell-Bryce, I thought her name was. From Irish nobility so prestigious that it apparently warranted a double-barrelled last name. Pretentious. Her two brothers were leaning against the far wall, close to where Livia was sitting. Beside them was rude little Clothilde von Striesburg, her dress robes rumpled and her hair a mess- somebody had clearly taken the opportunity to have a quick 'roll in the hay'. Daphne Greengrass was seated elegantly on the parapets, with a disgruntled looking Astoria sulking by her side. Aleksander Faustin winked at me from next to Daphne, swirling champagne around in his flute. There were others, too, ones whose names escaped me, or whose faces weren't familiar. Countless numbers- the elite, all assembled to complain about their families.

"We 'ave ze fireviskey, Dahlquist." Somebody Russian announced, pushing a bottle into my hand. It was the boy I'd bumped into. "Drink." He prompted, sounding annoyed. Obediently, I took a swig, before passing it easily to Draco. The Russian boy smiled approvingly at me. Clearly, he was tired of seeing people gag when the hard liquor ran down their throat.

Really, I thought as I wiped my sleeve across my mouth in the _least_ elegant way possible, I should have expected something along these lines. It was a secret tradition that, at every pureblood function, all the teenagers under seventeen would converge in some dark corner of the venue and get quietly sloshed. To be honest, I usually wasn't even included. Draco thought I was too young, so the first time I'd really been involved was at the Nott ball the previous year, and that had just involved Draco, Blaise, Theo, the Greengrass girls, two of Theo's cousins and myself crowding around a single bottle of Theo's uncle's firewhiskey and bitching about how nobody understood us.

This was a little different. Lets be honest- this was like a freaking convention. It was a party within a party, and I couldn't comprehend how the absence of the entire body of pureblooded European youth from the dancefloor hadn't been noticed.

I don't know whether or not it was in response to my entrance, or whether the entire group was just challenged when it came to conversation, but besides the Russian boy who'd passed me the alcohol, nobody was talking. With a sigh, I turned to Draco- he didn't disappoint. Pushing Pansy away from him, he put his hands on his hips. "You fought with the Beaufils heir." He told me matter-of-factly. I shrugged. There wasn't really much point in denying it.

"I did." I agreed, reaching for the firewhiskey bottle again, "though to say 'heir' might be pushing it. There's no title and little fortune." Draco's eyebrows soared into his hairline in recognition of my catty mood. I could tell that he wanted to pull me aside – probably for a lecture – but I ignored him, glancing around myself and admiring the sheer size of this gathering. "And Narcissa told us _so_ firmly that we weren't to 'congregate with the other children'." I said with mock regret. "How many rules have we broken now?"

Draco didn't get a chance to answer. Instead, the Russian boy from before cut in, executing a sweeping bow. "Do not smile unless you are smiled at first." He said in his thick Russian accent, grinning broadly.

"Don't speak too loud." Livia Cirollo trilled at the top of her voice, before collapsing in a fit of laughter. Below her, Octavia Sforza rolled her eyes.

"Or too often." Aleksander Faustin continued smoothly.

"Just _one_ drink an hour." Kostanze Wolfskehl slurred in heavily accented English, her head lolling on Theo's shoulder.

I grinned. "_Nothing_ stronger than champagne…" I said disapprovingly. One of the Brudenell-Bryce boys flicked his wand and a shot glass appeared in everybody's hands.

"_Salute_" Octavia Sforza said, sounding bored, before downing her shot with a practiced flick of her wrist.

It was a nice feeling, knowing that all of our peers had been treated to the same lecture as us. It created a sensation of togetherness between myself and everybody else in the room. Vague, warm, cosy togetherness which was probably brought on mostly by alcohol but was pleasant nonetheless. "I 'zink 'zey hand it out on cuecards." The first Russian boy said, clearly reading my mind. "But 'zey all add zeir own rules, too. Like…" He considered for a moment, before grinning and shouting. "Don't give ze younger children fire-viskey!"

Around us, the complaining had continued. "Never _ever_ talk about LUCIUS!" Draco bellowed his father's name, a manic expression on his face. The laughter died out as everybody looked at him, seeing the pain he was feeling written on his usually blank face. It was so raw, so intense and so _lonely_ that I wondered if Blaise might be right- had I been wrong to leave Draco to work through this alone?

Steeling myself, I pasted a wry grin on my face. "And _don't_ ." I said, my voice cutting through the awkwardness. "Don't you _dare_ spend all your evening with that Parkinson girl." There was a tentative spurt of laughter, and then the game continued. Draco avoided my gaze, clearly embarrassed by his own outburst, but when I wasn't looking, he straightened the hem of my dress a little.

"You look so ridiculous." He told me, sounding exasperated and exactly like a brother.

I felt a wave of relief pass through me. "You're just jealous that _you_ didn't think of wearing such a beautiful dress." I told him snidely.

"Don't spend all night with that English scoundrel." Kostanze called out, puffing out her cheeks and mimicking what must have been her father's voice.

By her side, Theo laughed, then adopted the prissy tone of his aunt- the woman he'd been living with since his father's arrest. "And you'd better not spend your evening with that little German slut." He announced. Kostanze laughed happily, and they kissed, oblivious to the rest of us.

"Don't drink, Astoria." Astoria announced, taking a huge swig of firewhiskey. The boys in our group gave a cheer of support and appreciation as she finished, coughing and gagging.

Daphne watched her with a defeated expression on her face. "Take care of your little sister, Daphne." She mimicked, rolling her eyes. Slowly, the game drew to a close. Ever the socialite, Daphne's eyes travelled over to me. "Dahlquist." She began, sounding very much like her preppy prefect self. "Do you know everybody?"

I shrugged, casting my gaze around. "The Hogwarts people." I said, nodding at her. Meredith Brunedell-Bryce lifted her shot glass in acknowledgement, and her brothers grinned.

"William and Bruce." One offered kindly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Your parents named you Bruce Brunedell-Bryce?" The brother on the left gave a 'what-can-you-do' shrug. I moved on. "Kostanze Wolfskehl- I heard you announced." She nodded at me magnanimously. Beside her, Theo shifted uncomfortably, looking awkwardly away. Kostanze appeared oblivious to his discomfort. Deciding to spare them, I moved on, grinning broadly at Aleksander Faustin. "I know Faustin."

He frowned. "I'm a Hogwarts person." He reminded me, apparently annoyed at being singled out.

I winked. "Ah, but you're _special_." I told him, stepping up close. "You're good looking." Somebody giggled, but then stopped abruptly as someone new entered the room.

"Don't mind me." I heard Blaise say, sounding bored. I sighed, not bothering to turn around.

"We were just getting to know one another." I told him, before mentally kicking myself for feeling the need to explain to him just what I was doing with Faustin. It wasn't his business at all, and besides, I was angry at him. And then, just as I considered what an idiot I was for bothering to explain at all, I heard myself say, "getting to know _everybody_, that is. Not just Faustin." I felt Blaise step closer to me.

"Not much to know." His voice drawled quite close to my ear. "You see before you all the underage spawn of pureblood society's elite. Nobody here is seventeen yet." My eyes darted to the Brunedell-Bryce heirs.

"So this is everybody?" I asked doubtfully, finally turning around to face Blaise.

He was smiling tightly at me. A smile which meant that somehow, he felt he had beaten me. But I had no idea what we were competing for. "Not quite." He told me coolly. "I just went to fetch the last member then."

For the first time I thought to look past him.

And immediately I wished I hadn't.

"Estelle! _Darling_!" a voice gushed in rapid French. "Laz has been _such_ a little shit, not telling me you were here!" And then, in a rush of mauve taffeta and lavender perfume, Alphee Beaufils, Lazzare's perfect little sister, swooped forwards and kissed me on both cheeks.

I hated Alphee. And she made that _so_ difficult to do. Lazzare was easy to hate- he looked very much like a Beaufils, so there was very little that was Dahlquist about him. He had the thick black hair which my mother's father had boasted, and that was it. The sly smile, the widow's peak, the narrow eyes. That was all characteristic of the Beaufils line. Beyond that, people understood that he was cruel to me, and so they _allowed_ if not supported my dislike of him.

Alphee was different. She _looked_ like my cousin. She had the huge blue Dahlquist eyes, which I'd missed out on. Her hair was dark, but her face had the Dahlquist cast. We looked related. We looked like a matched pair.

I despised that.

"Alphee." I said, matching her happy tone. "It is so _wonderful_ to see you!" She beamed at me, but her eyes remained cold and calculating. That was another reason I hated Alphee- she wasn't half as sweet as she wanted everybody to think. The girl was a menace- cunning and sly, but clever enough to hide it between girlish giggles and bright smiles.

She was everybody's best friend. At least, until they threatened her position. Then she would become their worst enemy. But nobody knew that until too late. So while everybody supported my hatred of Lazzare, I was condemned the second I said a word against Alphee. Alphee, who was _so_ sweet to me when I arrived. Alphee, who defended me _so_ fiercely when people gossiped.

Alphee, who told the teachers every single time I got into a fight, because she was _concerned_ for me.

Alphee, who finished cutting off the rest of my hair on my very first day, because she was 'trying to even it out'.

Alphee, who with a glint in her eyes told me that my mother had been the biggest slut ever to pass through Beauxbatons. "Your father could be anyone." She'd said, with all the love and kindness of a sister. "That's why everybody hates you- you're an embarrassment. I just thought you should know."

'I just thought you should know' was a sentence that typified all of my conversations with Alphee. Probably because she seemed to feel honour-bound to relate to me every single little tidbit of malicious gossip that she got her hands on.

"Why don't we write more, Estelle?" She demanded now, eyes fixed affectionately on mine. "Hmmn? Why don't we _talk_?"

Because you hate me, and I want to throw up every time I hear your voice.

"I suppose it's just so _difficult_, now we live so far from each other." I said regretfully.

Alphee's features morphed into a mask of regret. "Oh, _Estelle_!" She gasped. "We shouldn't let that stop us- we're _family_."

I'd already reached my limit for fake affection for that evening. So, with a rather inadequate attempt at a cousinly smile, I patted her on the arm and said. "There, there." I could practically _taste_ Blaise's amused contempt.

"Do you know everybody now, Estelle?" He asked patronisingly. I didn't even look at him, instead striding off to sit on Faustin's lap in as dignified a manner as I could muster. To his credit, he took my sudden decision to treat him like a couch very well, folding his arms around my waist and pulling me back against him.

"You smell nice." He said, just loud enough for Blaise to hear. A quick glance showed that he was looking at Blaise as he said it, and smiling slyly. I grinned- finally! A boy as malicious as I was. Eyes still on Blaise, I turned to face Faustin, our faces close enough to kiss. "Do I?" I asked sweetly.

"Get a room." Blaise said easily, but I could see that his eyes looked glassy and hard. He hooked his ankle around a nearby chair, lowering himself onto it elegantly. "What was everybody talking about?"

"How we 'ave all disobeyed our parents." Clothilde von Striesburg supplied sweetly, making some effort to smooth out her robes the second Blaise looked at her. Curious. I wondered whether Blaise had been the one to mess up her hair. It was possible, though unlikely that in the half hour between my escape from his custody and his intervention in my fight with Lazzare that he'd squeezed in a quickie. I cocked my head to the side, eyes narrowed, waiting for him to hint at it.

But he just rolled his eyes. "I meant _before_ Estelle corrupted the room with her daddy issues."

That stung a little, epecially after he'd been so perceptive before. I shifted a little on Faustin's lap, and taking the hint, he began to play with my fingers, tracing swirls on my palm. Blaise looked away from us coolly, but I could see his jaw clench a little.

"The war, then." Theo supplied quietly. "We were talking about the war." I sat up a little straighter.

"I still don't believe you have a _war_ in England!" Somebody exclaimed. I identified the speaker as a little Italian girl, with shiny dark hair done in ridiculous ringlets all around her face. "Nothing _ever_ happens here!"

"It isn't a _war_, Fiametta." Pansy told her with a sniff. "It's a… it's. It's _nothing_. Let's not talk about it." There was a rumble of protest from the room at her suggestion.

"Are you kidding? No! This is interesting." A tall blonde boy shouted. His friends nodded in agreement. "This is _gossip_."

"_Big_ gossip." Alphee's pretty voice chimed in. She turned to look at Theo and Draco. "I heard your fathers were _arrested. _Maman said they were 'in jail'. In Azkaban!" She shook her head in disbelief. "How could that even happen?"

"'Zey were caught?" Russian boy suggested in a sarcastic drawl. There were a few answering chuckles, and Alphee tossed her head impatiently.

"_No_." She said, annoyed, and apparently oblivious to just how uncomfortable Draco and Theo looked. "No, that isn't what I meant. I _meant_, _how_ did your government allow the heads of two of the noble families to be put in a _commoners'_ jail?"

"It isn't like France over there, Alphee." I drawled from Faustin's lap. "The old names don't mean as much."

"We have influence, but we don't have immunity." Draco told her softly, sounding almost sheepish. I watched, waiting, and indeed, he ran his hand across his already-smooth hair.

Alphee was disgusted, in her typical Alphee way. "No immunity? Well." She shook her head in disbelief, and we all waited. She never was one to disappoint. "I just don't see how your society can _function_ without any sort of hierarchy."

"There's an hierarchy." Pansy insisted. All the English kids turned to look at her in surprise. If there _had_ been a hierarchy, Pansy's family would be circling near the bottom. Still, no point in contradicting her- we had a common enemy just now, and it _wasn't_ the nouveau riche.

"Yeah, we do. It's just sort of… subtle." Meredith mused. "Understated."

"Understated?" somebody else asked. "An _understated_ hierarchy? That doesn't even make sense."

The English kids shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. Theo jammed his hands into the pockets of his robes, taking his arms away from Kostanze's shoulders. She, in turn, crossed her own arms uncomfortably.

"It makes perfect sense." Draco insisted. "Everybody _knows_ we're above them."

"Oh?" Alphee seemed to be heading the argument _against_ England. "How do they show that they know you are higher than them?"

Draco looked a little taken aback. "I- well, we're in a separate house at school."

Alphee leaned forwards, looking interested. "Oh. And they respect your house? Attempt to win your favour?"

"Ah, yes!" Octavia Sforza interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I _hate_ their constant attempts to ingratiate themselves! 'Oh, _Contessa_, let me carry your books! Oh, _Contessa_, take my seat.'" She mimicked cruelly. "Those _peons_. So tiresome."

Alphee turned to look at Draco. "Is _that_ what it's like?" She asked coolly, still smiling innocently. "Is _that_ what it's like at Hogwarts?"

Draco didn't answer straight away- _nobody_ did. After all, what could we say? In France, the pureblooded nobles were treated like gods. That was why I was such an anomaly. I had all the blood of a princess, but I'd been raised as a muggle. Nobody knew what to do with me. They still didn't.

In England, Slytherins were scum. Nobody liked us- we were despised by everybody. And even then, our families had been diluted and exterminated. The Prewetts were gone. So were the Gaunts. The Blacks, too, until this summer when my heritage came to light. The Malfoys and the Notts still held some respect, or had until the events at the ministry. The Greengrass family was still largely influential, and the Burkes were holding on, though Carmeline's parents had apparently refused the invitation to the Zabini ball. The Brunedells and the Bryces had combined into one house, so in a way the UK lost a family there. Who was left? Just the minor nobility, like the Goyles and the Crabbes, the Flints, the Puceys. Our minor nobility outnumbered our true noble families at almost ten to one.

"Not everybody's in Slytherin, you know." Meredith was saying, her arms crossed huffily across her chest. "Some of us aren't in Slytherin at all."

Alphee gave a delicate little shrug. "Ah, well." She said sadly. "The English. What can you do?" The other Europeans nodded, murmuring amongst themselves.

Draco was fuming. "The English _what_, Beaufils?" He demanded, practically spitting her name. Demonstrating that she wasn't entirely senseless, Pansy placed a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down.

Alphee shook her head a little. "Well. You know." She offered vaguely before taking a delicate sip of her champagne.

"Not really, we don't." Bruce Brunedell-Bryce (dear god, what a name) growled. I felt a little touched that he was standing up for the English, especially considering that both the Brunedell and the Bryce families were Irish. "You need to clarify."

Before she could, the small Italian girl with the ringlets- Fiametta- chimed in with, "You got ahead of yourselves with your little empire!" There was so much to be offended at in that sentence already, but she wasn't finished. "Too much colonisation." She said, waving a hand around as thought wafting away a bad smell. "Half your wizarding families defected and stayed in the new world. Didn't the Beignard family move to India back in the 1800s? And a lot of the English names resurfaced in America."

And I'd thought Jess was up-to-date on the world's wizarding nobility. She had nothing on Fiametta. "_We_ got ahead of ourselves?" Daphne asked snidely. "Do the words 'Roman Empire' mean anything to you?"

By her side, Astoria gave a sharp, affirming nod. "Good point, Daph." She enthused. "Roman Empire!"

"Well, it went on for longer than the British attempt!" An Italian boy shouted at her. "We at least knew what we were doing!"

This looked like it was headed for disaster. I couldn't help but look across the room to where Blaise was sitting, watching the action unfold from behind bored eyes. Almost as though he sensed my scrutiny, our gazes met a moment later. I raised an eyebrow, inclining my head in the direction of the impending brawl. Blaise held my gaze for a moment, then gave a slow, deliberate shrug, determined to let the action play itself out.

He was a _terrible_ host.

"The point _here_," Octavia was drawling while examining her fingernails, "is that without its nobility in their proper place, England is falling."

"Falling? What do you mean _falling_?" Pansy screeched, demonstrating a telling lack of dignity.

Alphee smiled sweetly. "Oh, I think Octavia was just pointing out that _our_ countries all have our wizarding nobility firmly entrenched."

"So?" Theo snarled at her, stepping further away from an increasingly uncomfortable looking Kostanze.

But Alphee never wanted to be the one to say anything _too_ offensive, so she threw her hands into the air innocently, the picture of sweet tactfulness. Of course, by then her seed had already been sown, and an Austrian boy stepped forwards. "Well none of _our_ countries are on the brink of civil war." There was an uproar at that, but he kept speaking over the top of it all. "It's true! It's true, the nobles in England are _fighting_ against their public! That's what's happening."

"It's a reverse revolution!" Somebody French shouted out. I glanced in their direction to recognise a boy who'd been in the year above me at Beauxbatons. From memory, he was one of the D'Amboise heirs.

"You lot would know about revolutions!" Aleksander said calmly, resting his chin on my shoulder. "1789 ring a bell?"

"Yeah!" Meredith seized that point. "Faustin's right! At least our public isn't trying to guillotine us!"

"Because they don't see you as a threat!" the D'Amboise boy- Faron, I thought his name was- answered, knocking his chair over as he stood up. "Because you aren't _in charge_ they don't need to overthrow you!"

The French Wizarding nobility were particularly sensitive when people mentioned the revolution. They'd managed to hold on to their titles, and, being magic, had escaped the guillotine, but they were still a little offended whenever people pointed out that they'd almost lost everything.

I sighed tiredly, leaning back and observing the casual atmosphere as it went up in smoke. Faron D'Amboise had, from the looks of things, insulted Meredith, so William Brunedell-Bryce was facing him down with a murderous look on his face. Fiametta and Pansy were practically coming to blows. The Austrian boy (I had no idea who he was- Jess or Carmeline would have known) had grabbed Kostanze's arm possessively, and Theo was reacting badly. They were about a second away from killing each other. Clothilde, meanwhile, was screeching unhappily at Kostanze. I wondered whether the Austrian boy was her brother? Boyfriend? It hardly mattered.  
>Livia, sitting on the top of the wall, appeared supremely unconcerned. Nothing was interesting for <em>her<em> besides the half empty bottle of firewhiskey she was holding, but Octavia, now standing on the settee, was screaming furiously at everybody, her words accompanied by increasingly dramatic hand gestures.

Just about the only person who _wasn't_ shouting at somebody was Alphee. No, Alphee would never _shout_. How vulgar. Instead, she was sitting happily in the very middle of the fight, her lips curved into a very satisfied little smile.

I could've told Blaise not to invite her, had he asked. She always turned everything to crap.

Just as I thought this, a shoe flew through the air, hitting the Spanish boy beside Faustin right on the face with a loud thwack. "Right." I muttered, untangling myself from Faustin. "Hey, I have to go and fix this." I told him apologetically. Unconcerned, he shrugged and waved a hand languidly. Without turning back, I dodged through the mob until I got to Blaise's side. "Hello." I said calmly, ducking slightly to avoid a champagne flute somebody had hurled across the room.

"Hi." He replied, equally calm, not looking at me.

"So." I continued, crouching so that we were level. "This discussion has gotten a little heated, right?" Somebody screamed, and I glanced behind me to see that Pansy had grabbed a handful of Fiametta's ridiculous ringlets and was dragging her across the room. Blaise shrugged. "Maybe you should stop it?"

"Maybe _Faustin_ should stop it." Blaise drawled, shooting me a patronising glance.

I rolled my eyes. "That doesn't even make sense." I told him dismissively. "What are you, a toddler?"

With an exasperated sigh, he slowly stood up. With a cursory look at me, he muttered, "_fine_," as though my suggestion that he stop a crisis from unfolding at his party was rude and selfish. Sighing, he stepped elegantly up onto the chair he'd been sitting on so that he stood a few heads taller than even the Brunedell-Bryce boys. "Everyone." He said, and even though his voice wasn't loud, the whole room froze instantly. Blaise had such presence standing there, straight and tall, that everybody immediately felt compelled to hear him. As one, we waited for this impressive figure to stun us with his words. "Shut the _fuck_ up."

Or not.

And then, in a manner quite in keeping with the mood of this surreal evening, everybody started to giggle.

This did not amuse Blaise. " I'm serious. Shut up. All of you." Like chastised children, everybody closed their mouths, shamefaced. "This… tradition." Blaise began, "is meant to be about _escaping_ our ridiculous parents' social conventions. And yet here you are, boring me with your uninformed discussions about _politics_ and _war_." These last two words were spoken with complete disgust. I watched him interestedly, taking a seat on the edge of the chair he'd just stood up on. "I'm never inviting any of you over again." There was an unhappy murmur, and Blaise threw a hand up. "_Don't_ complain." He sighed tiredly. "Just- I don't know… talk quietly amongst yourselves."

Apparently feeling he'd done his part, Blaise slid off of his makeshift soapbox, meeting my gaze expectantly. "Happy?" He asked, sounding bored.

"You shouldn't have invited Alphee." I snapped at him. "She causes trouble."

"_You_ cause trouble." Blaise pointed out calmly. "Wherever you go. And I still invited _you_."

"Your _mother_ invited me." I hissed. And then, remembering our earlier conversation, I reluctantly muttered. "Because you told her to."

Blaise's answering smile was triumphant, but temporary. He was scowling in another half second, and then, in a heartbeat his face was neutral again. "Your boyfriend looks annoyed." He told me. "He keeps watching us." I couldn't be sure, but I thought he meant Faustin. I shrugged, refusing to answer him. This annoyed Blaise more than anything, but of course, he didn't show it. "I suppose that _he_ is the boy you tried to tell your cousin about." Again, I shrugged, and Blaise looked about ready to punch a wall.

Suddenly, pretending that there was anything at all between Faustin and I seemed terribly immature. Blaise looked so angry to me- most people can't tell when he's upset, but to my eyes it was written clearly all over his face. "Blaise." I began, falteringly. "He's not…"

"Ah!" A voice chimed, cutting me off. "Laz was right- you _are_ friends." I turned around to see Alphee gliding over to us, smiling sweetly. "How … _unusual_." She finished innocently, tossing her perfect hair and shooting us a perfect grin.

"Unusual how?" I asked calmly, painfully aware of how dishevelled I probably looked. Alphee always had a way of making me feel just a little less than adequate. "We're just friends, Alphee. Just two _nobles_ who happen to be friends."

Alphee smiled again, running a hand through her silky hair. "Oh, silly! I know you're just friends. After all, it isn't like you could be anything else."

My answering smile was tight. "Sometimes, Alphee, you sound just like your brother." I wondered absently if Blaise was going to help defend me this time, but after a quick glance at him, it became clear that he wouldn't. He was smiling at Alphee the way that Goyle smiled at chocolate. Of _course_. He was male, and Alphee was pretty. He might've been willing to annoy Lazzare for me, but he wouldn't jeopardise his chance to have a little fun with Lazzare's gorgeous sister. I turned to him, my lips pursed. "Do you want to say anything, Blaise?" I prompted hopefully.

He raised an eyebrow. "You know what, Estelle?" He answered, brushing a little dust from Alphee's shoulder with languid fingers before looking up to meet my gaze. "I'm not Potter- I don't feel the need to save you all of the time."

My fingers itched to slap him, but instead, I just smiled. "Oh, I know you're _nothing_ like Harry." I said sweetly. But my blood was boiling- I hadn't mentioned Harry, or thought about him, in forever. And now Blaise had forced me to. My eyes felt hot, and suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt, alien and foreign. I had nothing to feel guilty about. "I think I might go and find Faustin." I said glibly, knowing that that would annoy Blaise.

"Yes! Please do." Alphee said with a chiming laugh. And then she clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with happy surprise. "Of _course_. And Estelle! You know, the Russians are famously lax on illegitimacy! The two of you might make a good match… how wonderful."

Perfect. I couldn't help but grin at that- Alphee may have thought she was offending _me_, but the person she'd really irritated with that little sentence was Blaise. He turned to face her with a stony expression. "You do realise that these are the 1990s?" He drawled. "Most everybody is a little lax on illegitimacy."

Well that was ridiculous. I laughed. "So what, Blaise?" I scoffed. "Is illegitimacy in fashion now? 'Bastards do it better' or something?"

Alphee gave a rueful little shrug, as though my words did nothing but demonstrate just how naïve I truly was. "Oh, Estelle." She said sadly. "Bastards are _never_ better- you poor thing!"

And it was at that moment, that in a situation I was completely in control of, that I was 'rescued' by the absolute last person I'd ever want to be rescued by in the absolute worst possible way. "Hey!" Pansy snarled, jabbing a finger into Alphee's shoulder blade. "Haven't you heard?" After waiting a moment to ensure that we were all paying attention to her, Pansy continued. "Estelle here isn't a bastard- she's the very last of the Black family." Alphee's eyes glinted a little, and Pansy seized the moment. "Yeah- they're a really _really_ old English pureblood family. Descended from Salazar Slytherin…" Blaise and I exchanged a glance- neither of us were sure whether that was strictly true. Still, there was no stopping Pansy once she was on a roll, and apparently she was still all fired up from her little wrestling match with Fiametta.

"Indeed." Alphee said sweetly, her eyes practically glittering with calculation and malice. "One of the Blacks, you say? And this has been verified?"

Pansy growled. "Are you calling me a _liar_?"

Bored of the pair of them, I turned back to Blaise. In the dim light, his features were hazy and blurred. It made him look softer, somehow. More vulnerable. Perhaps that was why I felt brave or comfortable enough to say, "I really don't know what you want from me, Zabini."

He blinked. "I don't know what you want from me, either." He said coolly. "But at the same time, I know I probably wouldn't give it to you if I did know. Just to spite you."

I would _not_ punch my host. I would _not_ punch my host. God, that was quickly becoming my mantra for the night.

I met his eyes squarely. "Do you know what _you_ want from me?" I asked him directly, stripping away all the strategy and manipulation. "Do you know what you want?"

His eyes flashed. "From you? _Nothing_."

I could feel rage bubbling up inside of me. "You know what, Blaise?" I asked sweetly. "I think I'm going to join that group of people who think us being friends, being _anything_, is ridiculous. Because I can't _stand _you."

He stepped closer to me. "Who said that I wanted to be friends? We're not _friends_."

I smiled tightly. "We aren't _anything._" I told him. "I don't think we ever will be."

Suddenly, something in his gaze changed. "Well _I_ think you're in denial." He said, and for once there was actual emotion in his voice.

"Denial?" I scoffed. "_I'm_ in denial? What are you trying to say?"

Blaise opened his mouth to answer, his eyes hidden by a shadow. There was a long pause, during which both of us struggled to calm down. I couldn't see his face anymore, because as I'd shouted, he'd stepped back. After a few moments, though, we both seemed to be ready to continue. But he didn't answer my question. Instead, he sighed and said, "you know, it doesn't matter to me if you're a bastard."

I rolled my eyes, trying not to grit my teeth. "I'd sort of gathered that." I said drily.

"It matters to everybody else, though." He continued. "which is why I'm not sure what I'm _allowed_ to want from you."

What? He… what? "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" I demanded, facing him with my hands on my hips.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. "What do you think it's supposed to mean?" He drawled. "Society doesn't like bastards. Or at least, not bastards without titles."

I was practically spitting with rage. "I _have_ a title." I told him, taking a step closer.

Blaise shook his head sharply. "No. No, Estelle, not _yet_." I gaped at him, absolutely flabbergasted. Blaise had always been blunt and straightforward, but he'd also never really delved into this territory with me. "If society were certain of your title, then you would've been invited to balls before last year. It was only when the Malfoys accepted you openly that you were partially included in our class. But still, for the moment, you are a nobody, _ward_."

My eyes widened. "That was _you_?" I demanded, jabbing my finger angrily into his chest. "You told them to announce me as 'ward'." He shrugged noncommittally and I hissed. "I have a name, Blaise." I snapped at him.

"I don't know why you're upset." He drawled. "I was just telling the truth- you _are_ a ward."

I rolled my eyes. "And you _are_ a shithead." I drawled. "But people don't _announce_ you that way- Contessa Nephthys Zabini and _shithead_. They don't do that!" I was right on the verge of an epic tantrum at that point in time. I couldn't understand why he was being so horrible after he'd been so.. well, whatever the Blaise version of 'considerate' was. I was confused and upset. So, of course, I was turning hostile. My eyes were flashing, my pulse was racing, my cheeks were flushed and my fingers were curled into fists. I was impressive and intimidating…  
>And Blaise was smiling.<p>

"What is funny about this?" I half shouted at him. "I'm _angry_ at you, Blaise- do you find that amusing?"

He shook his head slowly. "No." He said, infuriatingly calmly. "I find it quite reassuring."

I froze. "Reassuring?" I repeated like an idiot.

Blaise, clearly of the same opinion regarding my last words, raised an eyebrow cockily. "Yes, Estelle." He said slowly, as though talking to a fool. "Reassuring." I decided to wait- Blaise liked the sound of his own voice well enough to explain himself without me prompting him. "I thought perhaps you had become completely boring. You have not."

I considered this explanation. "You were… provoking me on purpose?"

He gave a curt nod. "I wanted to see if Draco was right- he said you'd had the fight beaten out of you, but I didn't believe it." There was a pause, and then, with a self-satisfied sniff, Blaise said, "I'm always right, you know."

This was so typical. That was all I could think of - just how _typical_ of Blaise this actually was. He was the only person I knew who could manage to be both a caring friend and a complete wanker at the very same time. He was watching my reaction with an air of complete disinterest, apparently unconcerned with what I'd make of his little mind games. Not for the first time, I wondered just what I actually knew about this boy, about his likes and dislikes. His hopes. His motivations. "Blaise." I said slowly. "You know…"

And then, quite suddenly, it hit me.

The room was silent.

I didn't even need to ask before Blaise explained this phenomenon to me. "They were all sick of each other after the fight." He told me wearily. "Pansy and Draco snuck off. I think Theo's still sucking face with Kostanze. Octavia's probably started an orgy somewhere…."

I held up a hand, cutting him off.

"So then, everybody's just… coupled off." I said, waving a hand ineffectually at the now empty room. Blaise gave a noncommittal shrug. For some reason, that annoyed me, and all of my previous questions and epiphanies were shoved aside by our good old fashioned mutual dislike. "Oh come _on._" I spat. "You're trying to act cool about a statement of objective face? Seriously?" I rolled my eyes, spinning around to face him. "Your problem, well, _one_ of your problems is that you never take risks, never make the first move. Because that would be _far_ too uncool, wouldn't it, Blaise? You think…"

And then, so suddenly that I wasn't even sure it had happened, he was kissing me, as though not a day had gone by since the last time we said we shouldn't do that. And yet, although it felt so familiar, so _normal_, it was different. Usually, it was so intense, so angry.

But not this time. This time, Blaise was being careful with me. It was as though our freakish and unnatural decision to talk about _feelings_- however briefly and long ago- had altered his perception of what we had. He was being… sweet?

I didn't really like that. "I'm not going to break." I muttered angrily against his mouth.

He pulled back, glaring at me. "Fine." He snapped, and then suddenly, I was pushed up against the ledge behind me. Smoothly, Blaise lifted me up into it, and crushed me against him.

Better.

The kiss was deepening, and I knew that between the alcohol and everything that had happened, I would be willing to go further tonight. I remembered from snogging Pucey, amongst others, that sometimes guys make appreciative noises, especially when you're doing the right thing. Blaise just never did. He was silent, unexpressive. He responded physically, but he was always completely distant. But I didn't mind that.

It just felt so _so_ good to be close to somebody. It was at that moment that I realised just how alone I'd been- maybe not even just since the battle at the Ministry- maybe always. Maybe I'd been alone for years and just never really admitted it to myself. But the events of the final week of school had awoken a fear in me. I didn't want to be isolated, to be alone. I wanted to be needed, wanted. Loved, maybe.

And at the same time, because I lived to be contradictory, I wanted to be left alone, to be separate so that nobody could hurt me.

And here, presenting the perfect opportunity to have my cake and eat it too, was Blaise.

I bit gently on his lower lip, and he pushed himself further against me, one hand travelling down, pushing my dress further up. I threw my head, back, waiting, but then it stopped. I looked back at him to see that he was watching me, his hand resting on my inner thigh.

I smiled shakily at him. "Are you waiting for something?" I asked, trying to sound condescending. He didn't move, his eyes fixed on my face. I sighed. "Come on, Blaise. I'm _ready_. I am, really."

He just watched me, completely still.

I quirked an eyebrow up, "Blaise?" I asked. _Please_, was the unspoken end to that thought. Please, I want to feel needed. I want somebody to want me, to care about me, to appreciate me. I want to feel special, _now_, and I want somebody to be happy because of me. I just keep making everybody sad.

"You know what." He said, his eyes dark and unreadable. I waited, and he grasped my hip firmly with his other hand. "I can't concentrate on anything you've said, because I can feel your hip bone _protruding_ through your dress. It's disgusting." And then, with incredible gentleness, he pulled slowly away from me, his disdainful expression not meeting his eyes.

I didn't say anything, just sat there, letting my hands fall into my lap as I watched him go. At the curtain, he paused, looking back at me.

I must've seemed a mess. My hair was hanging in snarls all around my face, and my lips must've been terribly swollen.

But as his eyes met mine, I could feel something very like warmth in them. He didn't smile, of course. Blaise rarely smiled _genuinely_, and then the moment was over.

"Go and eat something." He snapped at me. "You look like a bowtruckle."

And then he was gone.

Some girls would probably have cried then, with a boy they'd thrown themselves at rejecting them, then comparing them to a creature made entirely of twigs. I wasn't. I was smiling a little.

Because girls like that don't know Blaise like I know Blaise, and what had happened wasn't a rejection. He'd seen that I was a mess, and made a decision. A decision which _hadn't_ benefitted him, a decision which might not even benefit him in the long run, if I changed my mind again. No, his decision had benefitted only one person, and that was _me_.

It was probably the most chivalrous thing he'd ever done for me.

…

I wish I could talk about the rest of the ball, but the truth is that it went by in a blur.

After Blaise left, despite being almost in shock I managed to grasp onto my trademark shittiness and annoy everybody by going out and joining the party once again. I was introduced to a hundred nobles, and even though my mind was elsewhere, everything Blaise said affected how I interacted with them.

I'd always thought that they were so cool towards me because they felt threatened by my rebellious nature. I was _so_ full of myself. Now, all I saw in their distant gestures and slightly averted gazes was self-preservation. I _was_ the Dahlquist heir. For now. That wasn't certain until I was seventeen. It was as close as something could possibly be to certain, but the purebloods had never been gambling folk. Probably the Beaufils had been invited as a precaution, I reflected as I exchanged pleasantries with some Spanish Marquis. If I _didn't_ end up becoming the heir, Nephthys had to make sure that she hadn't shunned the next contestant.

Those sorts of thoughts swirled around in my brain for the rest of the night, accompanied by the veritable quantity of alcohol I'd consumed. It wasn't a pretty mixture. But I managed to avoid Lazzare and Alphee for most of the night. And Blaise- I managed to avoid Blaise.

I _do_ remember getting home. Narcissa wasn't one to rage, so she just shot me a look of ice-cold fury and then glided away. I knew I shouldn't expect to talk to her properly for quite some time. Draco and I had already made up, to a degree. So he smoothed down his hair, nodded me a quick 'goodnight, Estelle' and then half ran away.

So I was left alone. I sat myself down in one of the smaller salons, curling up on the couch in my pyjamas and watching the stars. It wasn't cold, but the air was crisp, and I had burrowed into the couch as deeply as I could, my feet tucked underneath me. I told myself that I was only staying awake so that I could finish sobering up. Traditionally, I didn't go to sleep until I felt entirely like myself again, but even hours later, I still felt pleasantly warm and fuzzy, but it suited me. I liked the night, and it was perfect for thinking.

And there was a lot to think about. My title, the reappearance of my vulture cousins.

Harry.

Sirius Black.

And yet, somehow I wasn't thinking about any of them. The only person I could think about was Blaise. How had he understood so much about my feelings? What had he meant by saying that I was in denial? Why did he defend me, and why did it offend me so much when he stopped?

I didn't _like_ him, I knew that much. The only person I'd ever really almost liked was… well, he wasn't an option. He'd betrayed my trust, and basically proven to me just why 'feelings' weren't ever a good idea. But, I'd enjoyed our little interlude that night. And I enjoyed spending time with him. The question was really how I could reconcile these two conflicting emotions.

I sat there for what felt like hours, until suddenly, something occurred to me.

Something drastic, something…. Unprecedented.

Draco would kill me. The very thought made me smile.

Feeling something like certainty overtake me, I jumped to my feet, seizing on the momentum. Almost gleefully, I ran through the halls of Malfoy Manor, heading for the fireplace in the small sitting room in the left wing. Draco thought he was subtle, but he never had been. I'd known everything about him since my arrival, from where he kept his embarrassing 'dirty magazines' to how he snuck into Lucius' cellar, to the hidden cache of portkeys behind the fourth brick on the righthand side of the fireplace. Draco always needed an escape at hand- he disappeared for hours at a time, though nobody ever commented. He achieved _that_ through a special arrangement with his closest friends. They'd exchanged what were basically charmed tokens, allowing each member a passage to the others' homes. I rifled through the box, careful not to touch anything for too long. I pushed aside the unimaginative round rock Goyle had chosen, Crabbe's contribution of a chunky old pocket watch. With disgust I moved aside the pair of panties Pansy had given, my fingers closing around the large shard of obsidian which represented Blaise.

Quietly, I whispered the incantation, my excitement mounting with each second that passed.

I was there in a flash. The castle looked different from the outside- more imposing and a little more confusing. The moon lit up the turrets from behind, but the shadows pooling around its foundations were black as oil slick. It felt like another world. It was only then that I realised a significant flaw with my plan – I didn't know which room was Blaise's. Going by instinct, I looked up at the dozens of windows above me. Why would Draco's portkey take him right here? My eyes darted around the grounds, scoping out the layout. It was fairly standard. To my surprise, the pristine gardens ended quite suddenly, morphing into a dense forest of tall, elegant pines, hardly typical grounds for a pureblood manor.

More atypical, though, was the lone tree planted oddly close to the castle wall. It stood, completely alone and out of place, its highest branches touching the windows….

Ah.

I'm good at climbing trees. Or at least, better than you'd expect. I firmly believe that my athleticism is directly linked to my impressive vocabulary of swear-words. So, with the help of a few choice phrases, in an assortment of French, Russian and English, I had clambered to the very top of the tree within fifteen minutes. My hands felt red raw, and I'd scratched my foot, but as I straddled the branch looking into what seemed like a bedroom, I felt an odd sense of satisfaction. Grinning like an idiot, I swung through the thankfully open window, planning on landing lightly in front of the bed.

But, typically, instead I stumbled a little, and then managed to stub my toe on a really badly placed chest of drawers.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I regained my equilibrium and flashed a brilliant smile at the figure lounging on his bed."Hi."

Blaise sat up, looking at me. "You're in my room." He said slowly.

I rolled my eyes. "Sometimes, you really thrill me with the power of your observational skills." I drawled, then smiled. "I need to talk to you." My smile widened. "Not about Draco, for once."

Blaise sighed, apparently not at all titillated by finding an attractive girl standing in his room in her nightclothes. He swung around to face me, placing his hands on his knees and meeting my gaze. "Are we _really_ going to talk this time?"

I shook my head. "No." I said simply, unable to keep the smile from my face. Blaise looked unsurprised, with a roll of his eyes, he stood up, picking up a discarded robe from the floor and throwing it over a chair. "I don't think we are- I think we'll probably just snog for a while."

He froze, looking back over his shoulder at me. "Oh." He said calmly, although you could practically hear the gears in his head turning. "So you're still tipsy, then?"

"I just realised- why are we bothering with this?" I asked, throwing my hands into the air and ignoring his question, probably because it was a valid one. "Why stay away from each other?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do you do this on purpose?" He asked drily. "Do you _enjoy_ confusing people?" I shrugged. I did, really. "I actually remember having this discussion once before." He drawled. "I think I said this _exact_ same thing…"

"I don't remember that." I told him, thinking about it for a moment. "You're making that up."

He rolled his eyes again. "No. I _did_ say that. You just never listen."

"Shut up." I snapped. Then grinned. "I really don't like you." I said. "But you're an amazing snog, and for some reason, I like spending time with you."

Blaise looked at me for a minute, his eyes unreadable. "I really don't like you." He said finally.

I waited for a while- he didn't elaborate. "That's all?" I asked, a little annoyed. "That's all you want to say? Because I said _nice_ things, too."

"Well, that's you, isn't it?" Blaise snapped. "I'm not saying anything nice. You broke into my house!"

"You left your bloody window open!" I shouted.

"So you assumed you could just _climb_ through?" Blaise asked coolly. "You thought that was fine… You are so very egotistical."

"Says the man with a photograph of _himself_ on his dresser." I snarled.

Blaise glanced behind him. "Oh, that." He said with a sniff. "No, that's my father." And then he was facing me again. "Maybe you need to get your eyes checked? If you had vision problems, it would explain why you keep wearing such ridiculous clothes."

I rolled my eyes. "Pyjamas, genius." I said, pulling at my pants. "these are _pyjamas_."

"Oh." He shrugged. "I suppose I'm just not used to seeing girls _wearing_ clothes at night time. Usually, they're naked." I didn't really feel the need to deign that with a response. Apparently of a similar mind, Blaise sighed and continued. "You know, I didn't pick you for the sort who'd want to be part of a couple."

I grinned. "See how well you know me? You're absolutely right- I _don't_ want to be in a relationship." Something flickered behind his eyes. "What I meant was that you and I ought to just… be friends with benefits."

There was a long pause, and I waited anxiously for his reaction. It took a while. Clearly feeling at leisure to take his time, Blaise sighed, then pulled a chair out, sitting down onto it and leaning back, not once taking his eyes off my face. "No." He said finally. My smile fell. "No, that sounds common."

"So we don't call it that." I hissed, annoyed. I was doing all the thinking- was he planning on contributing or just criticizing me endlessly? "We don't call it anything- we don't _need_ to label it."

"Interesting." Blaise pressed his fingers together, frowning at me. "So we just _act_ common?"

I considered this. "Yes."

He nodded slowly. "I _might_ be open to this."

My eyes narrowed and I folded my arms with a scoff. "well, try not to blow me away with your enthusiasm..." I didn't end up finishing that sentence. Blaise had strode over to me in a heartbeat and kissed me hard on the mouth, pushing me up against the wall.

When we finally came up for air, his eyes were dark and unfathomable, and we were both panting heavily. "I thought the point of this was that we didn't _need_ to be enthusiastic or anything like that." He said, his voice infuriatingly even. "You're so contradictory."

"And you're just a little boy who's trying too hard to appear mature and detached." I whispered, glaring at him. But then, my scowl turned into a devious smile. "Which is just perfect for this little arrangement. Detached is good. Little boy...?" I shrugged. "Not so much."

"Stop talking." Blaise ordered. "You'll make me change my mind."

At that, I couldn't help but laugh. "Change your mind, Blaise?" I asked, our faces bare inches from each other. "I don't think so. No, we decided on _this_ course of action a long, long time ago." The corners of my mouth twitched up. "This is just the first time we've admitted it to ourselves."

His eyes flashed a little, and I wondered whether or not he'd admitted it to himself earlier. Was that what he'd wanted to discuss on the night that Macgonnagal was sent to Saint Mungo's? Was that why I'd been invited to his party? I couldn't keep the admiration from my face. "You sly little snake." I grinned. "I think I understand now... You've been planning this for a while."

He blinked. "Planning what?" He asked, his voice oddly husky, and his eyes full of something like anticipation. Something like hope.

Confused, I cocked my head to one side. "This, of course." He said nothing and I sighed. "Friends with benefits."

"Of course." Blaise answered after a moment, his hands on my waist loosening their grip. For a moment, he seemed almost hesitant, but then he raised his chin and smiled imperiously. "Yes, I realised a while ago that we would end up in a situation like this. It was inevitable." Then he paused. "I just have one question."

Intrigued, I nodded. "Yeah?" I wondered what little point he'd thought of, what condition he wanted to impose, what issue he'd identified.

But he didn't present me with any carefully worded argument. Instead, his eyes darkened to pitch black, and he spoke just one word. "Potter."

I smiled nervously, taken aback. "That isn't a question." I told him, but he was unmoved.

"You know it is." He corrected solemnly. "What's your answer?"

My every instinct was to look away from Blaise, to loook anywhere but into his face as I considered my answer. But at the same time, I knew that I couldn't. Blaise would never forgive me if I did. He would see it as a sign of weakness, a sign of uncertainty. And I _had_ to appear certain. So, I forced myself to continue looking at Blaise, and only Blaise, even as my cheeks flushed and my heart rate sped up. I willed myself not to care, willed Blaise to see only my eyes. But I couldn't control what I was seeing, and at that moment, perhaps because i was tired or drunk, Blaise's eyes seemed to change before me, until I was gazing into a pair of almond shaped eyes, green as grass and brilliant with affection.

But that was over- that meant nothing now. Absolutely nothing. And so, steeling myself, that's what I told Blaise. "Nothing." I said simply. Let him attribute his own meaning to that- let him work out what it meant. "He's nothing."

.

.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: So sorry again about the wait! Can't promise they will be coming up too quickly any more, but I shall keep trying. This isn't my favourite chapter- I shall definitely be reworking it when I have time, but for now I really want to get to the part where Estelle learns about Sirius. Don't forget Lazzare and Alphee- they'll be important later on, and one of the conversations in this chapter which seems insignificant will have a bigger impact than you think.

And what _do_ you think? Let me know how you feel about the pureblood kids.

As always, thanks to my reviewers... only a couple this time, but it's quality not quantity, I think. So, I'm talking to you, **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, **XxXLoveIsInTheAirXxX**, **The Agent of Fire** and **andiescandieee**.

Apology to **fakeituntilyoumakeit**- no confession yet. But then, Blaise isn't a confession person, really. Still, I promised Blaise/Estelle and you've got some. There'll be some Harry in the next chapter, as well as Blaise and Estelle's 'not-date'. Also, another character from the books will make a cameo.

Please please please review! xxx


	22. Chapter 22

The next few weeks were difficult…. And also not.

The Zabini ball had sent me reeling, and snapped me out of the adolescent funk I'd been in since the end of the school year. I made a conscious effort to involve myself in life at the manor, and life in general, really.

But it was difficult.

Just as I'd finally decided that I had to be a part of the Malfoy family, once and for all, Draco and Narcissa seemed to pull further and further away from me. They were gone until all hours of the night. I'd wait for them, my face pressed against my window, searching for the lighted tip of Narcissa's wand as she led them up the path to the front door of the manor. That light meant they were safe- it meant that things were, if not normal, at least not a complete mess. As the days rolled by, and the new school year rolled closer and closer, Draco and Narcissa would come home each night paler and more frantic.

Lucius' trial yielded predictable results, but they say he was quite dignified through the whole humiliating process. I wouldn't know- Draco, Narcissa and I were told it was to be a closed trial. We weren't allowed to see him, although they sent us a note after they shipped him back to Azkaban. After that, Theo came over much more often. He hated living with his aunt, but seeing as his mother was dead, she was his closest relative. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean she wanted him around.

After the trial, things got worse. Sometimes, Draco and Narcissa would fight after they got home. Quiet, hissed fights which scared me more than any sort of shouting because it meant that they weren't saying everything, that they were holding back, and that seemed to me to mean that there was worse to come. So bad, that they didn't even want to confront it's approach. Nobody ever mentioned these fights at breakfast. I tried to keep the conversation flowing, but it was difficult. Every morning the prophet would arrive (along with a ton of hate mail) and I'd sort through it all. I read every article before Draco so that whenever I saw his face fall as he read them himself, I could make catty remarks to cheer him up. Nowadays, every second piece detailed just how wonderful Harry was, or how awful Lucius and the death eaters were. It drove Draco mental. The day that an article praising Harry's cohorts (Longbottom included) was published, Draco threw a massive fit, shouting and cursing the whole lot of them. Naturally, there was a reason for that, which I realised the first time I noticed that he was avoiding meeting my gaze. He knew that _I_ should have been in that article. _I_ should have been praised. And it killed him to think that in the same breath as his father was condemned, people would have been glorifying me. It reminded him that, however briefly, we'd been on opposing sides.

So that was why it was hard.

But Blaise was why it was _not_.

He wasn't ever _there_- that would've been too much, he said, and I agreed. But every now and then, a letter would arrive in his elegant scrawl with some piece of malicious gossip, or a witty observation. It made me smile, and it made me feel less alone, at least until I came out of my room to find an empty house because Draco and Narcissa had left. Again.

Things weren't good, but they were bearable. It hardly felt like we were at war. At least, until the morning after Lucius' conviction. That day, things began to go wrong.

That day, it really began to feel like we were at war.

…..

It was ridiculously early in the morning when I woke up.

Naturally, my definition of early was any time before ten, but on this particular day, the dim light from outside and the soft (and annoying) twitter of the birds indicated that for once, my definition of 'early' was entirely justified. Really that was the first thing I noticed, the birds. A soft, insistent chirping which reminded me why I despised nature before 11 o'clock. I would have gone back to sleep like I invariably did when I woke up too early, only there was another noise, too. An odd noise- like people moving about.

"What's going on?" I asked sleepily. Theo often came over quite early in the day, spending his time sitting unobtrusively in one of the studies around the Manor. It wouldn't have been the first time I'd been woken up by his presence. I'd call out, and then after a pause, he'd answer me in his soft, expressionless voice – the one he used only around me. He still didn't trust me and I couldn't blame him.

But this morning, nobody answered. It was quiet, except for that sound- that persistent scuffing sound, like shoes on floorboards. And yes- the squeak of the stairs. And papers rustling, voices murmuring.

I sat up.

It was early, that was clue enough that something odd was happening, and besides that, these noises were _productive_- busy, harsh noises, they weren't made by people who were raised to always act in a dignified and elegant manner. They weren't made by Draco or Narcissa _or_ Theo. Silently, I slipped out of bed, tiptoeing down the hallway, my sense of unease deepening with every step. The noises were coming from Lucius' study. Carefully, I pushed open the door.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, grasping my wand. The three men turned around, their faces cold and impassive. They took in my appearance- still bleary eyed, with hair like a birds' nest and wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, and turned straight back to their work. "Hey!" I snapped, and when nobody turned around, I fired a careful curse at one of the men's bowler hats, exploding it into a million pieces. "Ministry allows the use of underage magic when there's a threat to my wellbeing- I will curse the _hell_ out of you dickheads unless somebody tells me _what is going on_."

Finally, one of the men turned to me. With those same, almost disgusted eyes, he said. "This is Ministry approved, kid." He said coldly. "I suggest you leave."

At a loss, I shifted my weight, grasping my wand a little tighter. "No." I said firmly, thinking quickly. "I want to talk to your superior."

One man pushed past me, calling over his shoulder, "I'll do the bedrooms. Tell Arthur, would you?"

Angry, I pushed at him. "What is this?" I demanded, aiming to sound imperious but not quite pulling it off. "I want to speak to your supervisor- or see some sort of documentation."

Now somebody else came into the room. "Arthur says to watch out for cursed objects- Mark almost got his hand bitten off in the kitchen."

"Teach him to keep his hands out of other people's things." I hissed, and the man looked down at me, doing a double take.

"Family is meant to be downstairs." He said, not to _me_, but to the men. "Briggs, escort her down, would you?"

I saw red. "I can see _myself_ down!" I snapped furiously. "This is _my_ house." And then, in a voice much more desperate than I'd intended it to be, I cried, "why won't anybody talk to me?"

Still, his eyes just passed over me, not seeing. "Well?" He asked. "Take her down now, Briggs."

Somebody grasped my arm. Feeling particularly immature, I stamped viciously on his foot and ran down the stairs. Even as I darted off, I could hear that same man from before say, "Would somebody go and get her?" As calmly as if he were ordering a coffee.

I had crossed the landing and was hurrying down the next flight of stairs when I caught sight of Narcissa and Draco, standing close together near the doorway. They weren't hugging- no, that would have been indecorous. But they stood as close as they could without touching, and Narcissa had placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. She was wearing her nightgown, and he was in his pyjamas, and yet they still exuded a sort of dignity. I was forced to make a comparison between myself and them- No matter how hard I tried, I could never muster that sort of dignity. Scorn? Yes. Disdain and contempt? It was like breathing to me. But I was practically allergic to dignity in these sorts of situations. Both of them wore looks of utter scorn, and after a moment I caught sight of the object of that scorn – a redheaded man standing with his back to me. After a moment of collecting my thoughts, I called out to them. "Aunt Narcissa." I said lightly. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we seem to have guests."

The redheaded man turned around, and when he saw me, his mouth cracked into a heartfelt, but terribly sad smile. "You must be Estelle." He said, and it was instantly obvious that he wasn't used to being solemn- you could just hear the suppressed joviality in everything he was saying. There was something familiar about him. The hair, of course, was distinctive. A terrible mess on top of his head, and thinning in the middle. The eyes- sky blue and very kind. Perhaps even the long, sharp shape of his nose… And then it hit me.

I gave a clipped nod. "And you look like a Weasley." I said shortly, still standing apart from the scene. He hadn't stopped smiling at me yet, that same, almost pitying smile. It was driving me mad.

The broad smile that slipped onto his face when I guessed his name looked much more natural than his previous expression. "Yes! Yes, Arthur Weasley- Ron's father." I said nothing, and slowly, the smile faded. "I –uh- I knew your parents." He said, and I laughed shortly.

Parents. He knew my _parents_- plural. I still wasn't used to being told that. "Yes, I am sure that you did." I said coldly. "Why are you here?"

'It's a search, Estelle." Draco said angrily. "They are _searching_ the house for weapons, or Death Eaters, or You Know Who himself." Narcissa glanced down at her son, squeezing his shoulder soothingly.

I pushed my hair out of my eyes and cast a wry glance at the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room. "At half past six in the morning?" I asked drily. "Lovely."

_"Excessive_." Draco hissed. Now Narcissa's fingers dug into his shoulder a little.

Sensing his anger (it isn't like he was making a huge effort to keep it subtle) I shot him a wry smile. "Oh, I don't know, Draco." I said airily. "You know the saying: 'the early bird catches the tyrannical dark wizard'."

To my surprise, it wasn't Draco who was amused, but Mr Weasley. Before he could help himself, he'd let loose a muffled sort of snort, which he then didn't bother to cover up. Instead, he met my eyes with a small smile, as though we were sharing a joke. But I didn't particularly like that, because surely if he thought we were sharing a joke, that joke would be at the Malfoys' expense. I looked away from him. It was at that moment that the erstwhile Briggs and his friends finally caught up with me. "There she is." Briggs intoned, sounding annoyed. "At least she's in the right spot." He glanced up at Ron's father. "Sorry, Arthur. Looks like we missed one."

Arthur Weasley frowned. "It's alright, Briggs." He said thoughtfully. "Although, I believe policy requires we wake the residents up _before_ beginning our search." He shot Briggs a pointed look. "_All_ the residents."

I folded my arms, turning to Briggs with a vicious smirk. "Yes, _Briggs_." I drawled cruelly. "When violating people's right to privacy at _least _make sure you stick to protocol."

"Estelle, don't cause a scene." Narcissa said, her voice cool and commanding. And inexplicably annoyed at _me_. That seemed less than fair, and I turned away from her, sticking my nose in the air and leaning on the bannister. "You should fetch a robe." She said haughtily to me. I resisted the urge to poke my tongue out.

"It _is_ six in the morning." I pointed out. "This is what I wear at six in the morning – I refuse to let these _connards_ dictate even my clothing."

"Estelle!" Narcissa didn't snap, but her voice certainly took on a sharper tone. "That sort of language is totally unbecoming."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?" I asked in French. "It isn't as though these plebs understand it." I think she seriously considered murdering me at that point.

"Arthur?" Briggs was still hanging around. Wonderful. "We didn't manage to take her wand, and she's still…."

That was ridiculous. I whirled around, utterly infuriated. "My _wand_?" I demanded icily. "Are you joking?" Briggs shot me a gleefully malicious smile. Yeah, he _would_ enjoy taking away the only defence of the child whose house he was invading.

Arthur Weasley's calm voice permeated through the tension. "Let her hold on to it for now, Briggs." He said tiredly. I supposed he was used to his own children having tantrums… all five hundred of them. For a moment, the mental image of five hundred little redheads screaming at Arthur Weasley entertained me. And then it ceased to be amusing.

"Arthur, all due respect, she _did_ try to curse Gerald."

I turned to face him. "_Try_?" I drawled, hands on hips. "I hit him, didn't I?"

"You hit his _hat_." Briggs said patiently.

I rolled my eyes. "semantics. I was _aiming_ for the hat. Otherwise, it would have hit him in the face…"

"Estelle." Narcissa said, her voice sharp again. I turned to face her, adopting a meek expression. She did not look impressed. "Let Mr Weasley take your wand." She instructed me in a tone which brooked no argument. With a sigh, I lifted my hand into the air, my wand resting on my open palm. When Arthur Weasley flicked his own wand, summoning mine to himself, I felt a pang of regret. But then again, my wand was fairly attuned to my moods. Perhaps it would sense my reluctance and vomit gunk all over Arthur Weasley's face in retribution. The thought made me smile, but unfortunately I'd overestimated my wand's loyalty. It flew to him as if it knew him, _liked_ him, even, and landed gently in his outstretched hand.

"Traitor" I muttered in French.

He rolled it over in his hands, smiling a little. "Lee's wand, I see." He commented lightly. That, perhaps, explained why it knew him. "I remember it."

"You don't need to paw it." I told him with a sniff, but one look from Narcissa silenced me. Sometime in the following silence, Briggs buggered off again, and somebody else walked through carrying one of the portraits from the gallery (which was protesting _loudly_) but through it all, Arthur Wealsey just smiled at my wand. Well, _Maman's_ wand. It was in that moment that I realised that I ought to have made more of an effort to find _Maman's_ friends when I first came to England. It had just never occurred to me that she had any – she had always seemed so very alone. But perhaps it was best that I hadn't. After all, I'd already cast enough doubt on my loyalty to the Malfoys without being best friends with the Weasleys. Arthur Weasley was just another reminder that at one time, I'd considered switching sides. After realising that, I began to resent his presence in my home, which so sharply threw my decision to stick with Draco into doubt – had I made the right choice?

"Lee used to make great magic with this." Arthur Weasley said finally, grinning at me like a fool and completely oblivious to the mental turmoil his presence was causing me. I didn't reply, and with a sigh, he tucked it away with Narcissa and Draco's wands. "Well, it looks like you're being taken care of." He sounded sad again. "Though, I do wish…." He paused thoughtfully. "Sirius' other cousin- Andromeda. I do wish she'd gotten custody."

Wow. So _tactful_ of him to say so in front of my current guardians. These Weasleys – so well-intentioned and _so_ ill bred. I smiled cruelly at him. "I am told that she did not want it. Sins of the father, and all of that." Suddenly this all became too much for me. I turned to Narcissa, away from this stranger who'd come into my house and cracked open my life. "Aunt Narcissa, when will they go?" Even to me, my voice sounded childlike and scared. Defensively, I folded my arms.

Watching me from behind guarded eyes, Narcissa nodded. "When they're finished, Estelle." She said her voice much softer than before, and then, to my shock, held out a hand to me.

"It won't be too long, now." Mr Weasley interjected with a warm smile, almost unconsciously mirroring Narcissa's movement. "Merlin, but you look like your mother. Molly was right."

I stood there, on the landing, looking out at the strange scene playing out in the foyer. On one side, Arthur Weasley stood, a strange combination of features that I'd seen in all of his children. As our eyes met, he smiled kindly at me, and I remembered the affection with which he'd referred to _Maman_.

_The Weasleys have been good to me_. I remembered Harry saying once with a smile. _They're sort of my family now, I guess._

My gaze slid back across to Narcissa and Draco, standing cold and impassive some distance from Mr Weasley. They were awful- malicious and often cruel. Hardly loving at all. But they'd been there for me- they'd helped raised me.

Maybe this Mr Weasley had loved my parents to bits, but he hadn't earned my loyalty. The only people who'd stood by me, and I mean _consistently_ stood by me, were standing opposite him, looking ridiculously superior considering that they were still in their nightclothes.

My eyes hardened, and, my decision made, I looked away from Arthur Weasley, ignoring his outstretched hand, I walked calmly over to Narcissa, my head held high. I would be proud- I would be _dignified_. They could come into my house and rip it apart, but they couldn't touch me. When I reached my Aunt's side, she didn't hold my hand, but she did place one long, elegant hand on my hair, as though she were stroking it. And then she met Mr Weasley's gaze with a look of quiet triumph. It was clear that she thought she'd won this round, but I wasn't sure why I was the prize.

Mr Weasley didn't look too upset. For a moment, he seemed regretful, looking at me with a sorrowful shrug. "I _am_ sorry to inconvenience you all." He told us kindly. And then, with another rueful look in my direction. "Especially _you_, Estelle. I am sure that this time must be hard for you."

Biting back a retort, I lifted my chin and gave him a small, condescending nod of acknowledgement. He looked slightly shocked and _very _uncomfortable, as though that expression on my face was somehow wrong. I knew how he felt. To do that hadn't been a very large thing, and it hadn't taken much, but it felt… somehow off. Too cold. And restrained- I was _never_ very good at being restrained.

And of course, I looked like my parents, I could see that now. And neither of them would ever have made such a well-bred, _Malfoy_ face.

But despite my misgivings, from behind me Narcissa's fingers twitched on my hair, almost giving me a little stroke. She approved.

Of course she did.

I expected Mr Weasley would stop talking then. I suppose I thought that he'd be stricken with disappointment at the fact that I wasn't my mother reincarnated and leave us alone, but instead he seemed more determined than ever to chat and it was getting on my nerves.

"Do you know." He began, quite jovially considering the situation, "that your father and his friends once used a particularly sophisticated version of a confundus charm to ensure that the first years could never find the Great Hall?" he paused, clearly waiting for me to react, but I didn't. That didn't matter to him, though. He nodded enthusiastically and continued as though I'd expressed the greatest interest in his little anecdote. "Indeed he did. Yes, he placed the charm on the main doors to the Hall, combining it with a repelling charm, so the little students would just walk straight past it. Some of them hadn't eaten for two days by the time the teachers realised."

That was… amusing.

"How _Slytherin_ of him." I said snidely.

Mr Weasley pretended I hadn't spoken. "Do you remember that, Mrs Malfoy?"

Narcissa seemed taken aback by the fact that he'd addressed her, and feeling suddenly angry at him, I stepped forwards a little and tilted my chin up in the air. "Mr Weasley." I said with a sweet smile. He looked confused. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

He blinked in shock, but then grinned. "Well, I am quite partial to Earl Grey."

I smiled again. "Indeed? How lovely. Perhaps your friends would_ also _like a cup of tea?" I raised my voice a little bit, as though calling them. There was no answer, and I turned back to Mr Weasley, still smiling. "They must be in the bedrooms." I said politely. "Our bedrooms have quite thick walls – for privacy, you understand."

Mr Weasley sighed. "I'm sure that they're just fine, Estelle." He said.

I wanted to tell him not to call me by my first name, but it reminded me too much of the million conversations I'd had with Harry. So instead, I clasped my hands behind my back, still smiling. "You know, it occurs to me that we ought to retire to one of the parlours- your friends, too, if they'd like." Mr Weasley frowned a little and began to speak but I cut him off, still maintaining my smile. "I could arrange for some scones? And jam. Perhaps you'll stay for lunch…?"

It was only then that he cottoned on to the fact that I was making fun of him. He frowned a little, still watching me. "There's no need for that, Estelle." He said sadly.

I dropped my charming grin. "I think there might be, actually." I said, my voice once again cold and emotionless. "You seem to be under the impression that this is some sort of perverted social call. It isn't- it's a home invasion. You _don't_ get a cup of tea, you _don't_ get to reminisce about the good old days and you _certainly_ don't get to address any of us by name."

He didn't speak again after that. I think he realised that I really couldn't see him as anything other than the enemy at that moment. What surprised me was that the thought seemed to sadden him. He was upset that I didn't like him, that I hadn't warmed to him.

But I didn't allow myself to feel guilty about that fact.

When they finally left, his goodbye was kind and heartfelt. He handed back our wands was the utmost care, and left the details of his department so that we could contact them in the event that something had been damaged. "We'll send an inventory of what we've taken." He told Narcissa. "You may challenge the status of some of the artefacts, but for the most part they shall be held in storage or destroyed."

Narcissa was probably devastated. After all, those were family heirlooms, generations old, and he was going to have them incinerated. And yet, her face remained calm and blank through the entire conversation. She was impassive and unflappable. For the first time, I truly realised just how strong she was.

After they'd finally left, though, and the three of us were alone, one question kept nagging at my mind. And it was such an insignificant question, too. Of all the things I could have or ought to have asked, this was the worst, the least important. And yet, after Draco stalked off and she glided back in the direction of her room, I couldn't stop myself from blurting out:

"Do you?"

Narcissa paused at the stairs. "Do I what?" She asked coolly.

I turned to face her, schooling my features to remain impassive. This was a new thing, quite foreign – the desire to know about my father. No, not my father – the man who'd _sired_ me. "Do you remember…" I wondered what I was meant to call him. "Do you remember Sirius Black charming the doors so that the first years students couldn't find the great hall?"

Narcissa pursed her lips. "He was always doing things like that." She told me, sounding utterly bored, and I considered the discussion over – a complete loss, after all, just to teach me not to ask any more. But then, as I turned to leave, she hesitated. "I was in first year that year, as well. I haven't forgotten."

She began to move away, but I called out again before she'd gotten far. "He charmed it so his own cousin couldn't eat?" I demanded.

Her head was in profile at that moment, and the lights from the fires – kept lit at all times by Kreacher – threw it into sharp relief, so that she was a silhouette to me. I couldn't make out any expression. "No." She told me, after a lengthy pause. "No, Sirius warned me on the first day. He was walking past in the corridor, laughing with his friends, and when he saw me, it was as though he'd only just remembered that I existed. He made a joke, and while his friends were distracted, he threw me a bread roll and said 'best get the food directly from the kitchens for a while, Cissy.' And then he kept walking, as though nothing had happened." There was yet another long silence- there seemed to be more silences than words of late. "That was the first time we'd spoken in almost a year."

…

The holidays were moving sluggishly, and our days fell into a sort of a routine.

As Draco became more and more volatile with each hateful letter and each condemning article, I gave up attempting to turn the situation into a joke, and began trying to protect him. I would wake to the sound of the post being delivered, then run downstairs and sort through the mail, removing the death threats and those letters likely to be cursed. Then I would cut out the offending articles in the daily prophet. He never made any comment, but he must have known I was doing it. I think he was embarrassed to tell me that he was grateful, because it would mean admitting that the opinions of blood traitors and muggleborns did hurt him.

Later on in the day, Draco and Narcissa _might_ come downstairs. Alternatively, they might leave. When they left, they were gone the entire day. Sometimes longer. Of course, I never gave any indication that I'd noticed this. Theo's visits grew less and less as his Aunt insisted he remain at her husband's manor, and even though he'd never spoken to me, I missed him when he was gone because at the very least he'd been _somebody_ else in the house.

Jess invited me to stay with her at the Osyth Summer Manse sometime during the second-to-last week. I declined.

Carmeline wanted to come and visit. I declined.

But I _did_ meet Blaise a few times. Usually, to sneak away from home was nearly impossible. I'd have to shimmy out the window, clamber down the balcony and dismantle the wards to get out, all without Narcissa, Draco or Lucius noticing. Not anymore. Now they were gone for so much of the time that all I had to was walk right out of the front door. So, I'd go meet Blaise, and we'd snog and snog to our hearts content, and I'd come back late at night, but with hours to spare before Narcissa and Draco came home. I'd watch for them from my window, gazing on impassively as their pale little faces appeared at the gates and they walked solemnly back into the house.

Beyond this, nothing interesting happened until the Friday a month before the end of school holidays. On this particular day, both Draco and Narcissa were home. And _both_ of them came to my door to pass on a particularly strange message.

…..

"A what?" I asked inelegantly, combing my fingers through my hair and braiding it loosely. "I have a _what_?" They'd ambushed me on my way to the bath, creeping up in their typically ghost-like manner and murmuring a sentence which hadn't made a lot of sense to me at the time, and perhaps made less sense now.

Draco's face remained dark, his eyes narrowed, but Narcissa answered me calmly. "A visitor." She repeated, ever patient. "He is waiting in the foyer."

So I had heard right. A visitor… a _male_ visitor. Well, the list of prospective gentleman callers was fairly short. Realistically, I could narrow it down to Blaise… or it might be Blaise. I was going to _shoot_ him- how dare he spring this on me after our agreement to be careful? Who else could it be, after all? I was fuming. We'd said this would be kept secret, _very_ private, and yet here he was, bloody _calling_ on me as though we were in some sort of Victorian novel. Yes, that was it – he'd 'called' on me, and Draco and Narcissa hadn't even let him into the house properly.

That seemed…. Rude. "You didn't invite him up?" I asked, trying to gauge the situation. Were they furious? Disappointed? In denial?

Narcissa's eyes narrowed a little. "It seemed… inappropriate." She said coldly.

Draco seemed to agree. "I don't want him up here." He told me. "He doesn't deserve to come up here after what he's done!"

I blinked. Alright, they seemed very _furious_. I hesitated, shuffling a little from foot to foot and examining the equally icy facial expressions of my family. "Did you…" I tried weakly. "Would you like to talk about this? Before I go to see him?"

Draco's gaze was cold. "There's nothing to talk about." He said, after staring at me for a minute, and then he pushed roughly past me. "_Yet_."

Narcissa looked exasperatedly after her son as he stormed off. As the sound of his door slamming shut reverberated around the hall, she sighed and turned back to me. "We are upstairs." She told me. "If you need us."

"Aunt Narcissa." I began weakly. "I didn't think you'd…"

But she'd strolled away, back rimrod straight and eyes fixed at some point in the distance.

I wanted to smack my head against a wall. Why were they so angry?

Admittedly, I had known that Narcissa would be upset. After all, I was circumventing her painstakingly careful betrothal plans. But I hadn't thought she'd be angry at _me_ because of that. After all, technically I wasn't even meant to know about those so she couldn't really blame me for ignoring them. So far as I knew, Narcissa had not intended me to find out for a couple of years, but the oak doors of Malfoy Manor are surprisingly easy to listen through, and I'd heard her and Lucius discussing both Draco's and my future at different times. Of course, nothing had been finalised, or even initiated, but the intention was there, and gossip that I was screwing around with the Zabini heir would jeopardise any chance I had for a decent match. Particularly considering that we had been doing it _behind_ our parents' backs. That implied a sort of sordidness that purebloods liked to steer clear from. It made it look like we'd been behaving very badly indeed. Of course, if the public found out we'd been having covert assignations Blaise's reputation wouldn't be damaged at all. _I_ would be the unfortunate piece of 'damaged goods'.

As I ran through the reasons for Narcissa's anger in my mind, I considered that perhaps her anger was justified. Pureblooded children weren't saints, and it was generally acknowledged that we would behave badly at school, but the principle was 'what happens at Hogwarts stays at Hogwarts', and we stuck to that. Officially, none of us were meant to be having relationships at all. Officially, all the upperclass kids were virginal and chaste in the extreme.

That applied _especially_ to the girls, and _particularly_ to me, whose reputation was already stained by illegitimacy.

Narcissa and Lucius had known this. I had first heard them discussing me the month after I arrived in England. I remember pressing my ear to the study door and hearing the low rumble of Lucius' voice as he listed the various families who 'might be amenable'. "It will change, though." He'd said. "It will change when she turns 17 –when she inherits. Then we'll have suitors breaking down the door for the hand of the last of the Dahlquists." Narcissa's cynical reply had been. "_if_ she behaves."

Misbehaving at Hogwarts was one thing, but misbehaving _outside_ of Hogwarts was another, and if Blaise came to the Manor to visit me, and one of the other families got wind of it…. Well. Unless that visit resulted in a proposal, then my reputation would be called into question.

Well… _more_ into question.

And nobody knew that better than Blaise who had, rumour has it, utterly destroyed some Swedish pureblood in the eyes of her peers just the summer before.

Suddenly Narcissa's anger was not only justifiable but something I could totally relate to. In fact, I was feeling completely furious with myself for being so casual with Blaise this far in. I should have set ground rules – I should have thought ahead.

Trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, I tripped down the stairs, my fingers grazing the bannister as I went and my anger mounting with every step. The foyer was empty when I reached the end of the staircase, but the door to one of the smaller salons was just slightly ajar. Narrowing my eyes, I strode towards it, sliding through the tiny gap Blaise had left. As I did so, I noticed that Draco had come back out onto the landing and was standing at the edge of the stairs, watching me.

I felt a pang of guilt and prepared to _destroy_ Blaise – physically and emotionally. "Way to be subtle." I hissed as I entered the salon, closing the door behind me so that I couldn't see my cousin's accusing eyes anymore. "I think Draco's going to curse your dick off…."

"That seems a tad dramatic, considering the circumstances." A voice said jovially. "Please give my apologies to Mr Malfoy – I assure you that I did not mean to offend him." I almost died on the spot. It couldn't be – in fact, it just _wasn't_. I wasn't going to look around, because it was Blaise standing there, definitely _not_ Professor Dumbledore. And yet, the voice continued. "It might also be wise to warn Mr Malfoy that any such action along those lines could make for an uncomfortable school year for the both of us."

Pivoting slowly around to face him, I tried to force a smile onto my face, and failed. There, just _sitting_ in one of the armchairs by the fireplace with a bloody cup of tea floating happily by his right elbow, was my headmaster. I allowed myself some relief at the fact that my relationship with Blaise was _not_ common knowledge (at least it gave me a chance to set some rules up), but I did not allow myself to appear confused at the identity of my visitor. "Professor." I said, not bothering to pretend to be happy. "Such a pleasure."

He looked completely at home. His hands were folded neatly on his lap and to my surprise, there was a large, sturdy-looking burgundy briefcase resting on the coffee table. "Miss Dahlquist." He greeted me pleasantly. "I do apologise for my intrusion – I do hope you weren't expecting somebody else."

I sighed, fully resigned to the ridiculousness of the situation. My headmaster, a man whom I'd been quite rude to the last time we'd met (granted, he _had_ ruined my childhood) was sitting on one of my sofas, drinking tea from a cup which was _definitely_ too garish to be from the Malfoy kitchens. "Not at all, Professor." I said, trying to sound polite. "It is so _kind_ of you to visit. And you even brought your own _china_." I nodded derisively at the cup and saucer, which was now bobbing cheerfully next to his ear. "How considerate."

"Oh?" Dumbledore glanced briefly at the cup, as though reminding himself of its presence. "Yes, I _did_ try to catch the attention of one of your house elves, but they seemed a little reluctant to serve refreshments. And so, I provided my own." I raised an eyebrow. I so hoped he'd gotten Kreacher. Kreacher had been hanging around almost all summer, like a particularly devoted sort of barnacle. He seemed to adore me, but absolutely _loathed_ anybody who wasn't a pureblood. "I'm afraid this isn't an official visit." Dumbledore told me, smiling happily as though my welcome had been both heartfelt and sincere.

"I'll admit, I had assumed it was a social call." I drawled sarcastically. "I only wish you'd given me a little more notice. We could have invited Snape, Macgonnagal and Sprout and made a day of it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement. "_Professors_ Snape, Macgonnagal and Spout." He corrected me, sounding not at all offended, then sighed. "Yes, I do understand that this is quite out of the ordinary. I must ask that you bear with me."

My smile was broad and dry. "I hardly think I have a choice." I said. And then, unable to stop curiosity from getting the better of me, I asked. "Did you not want Narcissa here? Surely she'd be the person you needed to speak to about…." I didn't really know how to finish my own sentence. "… whatever this is about."

He met my gaze quite sternly. "No, Miss Dahlquist." He said kindly. "I'm here to speak to _you_." I blinked in surprise and he continued. "Had I been sent here in an official capacity, Mrs Malfoy – as your guardian – would be required to participate. But as things stand…"

I frowned, quite interested now and no longer willing to pretend otherwise. "What is this about?" I asked him honestly.

He gave a little sigh, reaching out and plucking his tea cup from the air and taking a sip. I waited patiently, still standing with my arms folded and my chin raised defiantly. "Do sit down, Miss Dahlquist." He told me eventually. "I think that may be the ticket." Reluctantly, I took a seat opposite him, and he leaned forwards, meeting my gaze. "I do not wish to be indelicate, but I feel that you are the sort of person who appreciates a no-nonsense approach in these sorts of matters." I had no idea what 'these sorts of matters' actually entailed, so I just stayed silent and waited for him to explain. I didn't have to wait long. "Your father certainly did. Your mother, too. It was an ironic trait for two such dramatic individuals to possess, and yet quite admirable." He levelled me with a long appraising stare. "A few weeks ago, Sirius Black's will was discovered at his home in Grimmaud Place."

Awkward. _So_ awkward. It took a superhuman effort not to look uncomfortable, but I managed. "Indeed?" I asked politely. "How interesting." And then, to my surprise, a glimmer of hope was raised in me. A sort of spark, deep down in my stomach. Had my father _acknowledged_ me in his will? Had he named me heir?

Did he actually give a damn about me after all? Why else, after all, would Dumbledore be at my house? Perhaps, I conceded, it wasn't _officially_ done. After all, Dumbledore had said he wasn't here in an official capacity, and besides, if Narcissa had taught me nothing it was that pureblood families were ruthless enough to have excluded illegitimate progeny from inheriting. But there were ways around that sort of thing, if one is resourceful. I couldn't help the feeling of warmth within me, a feeling that was effectively dispelled with the next few words he spoke.

"Sirius left everything he owned to Harry." Dumbledore told me, his eyes – for once – twinkle free. I blinked, suddenly cold and feeling like a complete idiot. Of course he hadn't thought of me, not when Saint Harry was around. I'd been a fool to imagine that he would. I sat up a little straighter, my jaw clenched involuntarily, and lifted my chin with as much dignity as I could in an effort to demonstrate how little I cared. Dumbledore didn't appear to notice, rattling on seemingly oblivious to my internal struggle. "His family home, the contents of his vault at Gringotts, his hippogriff…"

I looked up from my reverie at that last word. "His _what_?"

And there it was again – the twinkle. I'd known it couldn't stay gone for long. "His _hippogriff_, Miss Dahlquist."

I felt it would be easier not to ask the obvious question _that_ raised. And, I noted calculatingly, this was a perfect opportunity to appear dismissive. "I didn't particularly want a hippogriff, anyway." I said dismissively, pushing the list of items away from me with a sniff. "It would shed all over the upholstery."

Dumbledore gave me a small, knowing smile. "Indeed, they are not the most practical of pets." Nonchalantly, he looked away from me. "Sirius was constantly forced to replace the bedding – talons, you know, shred linen quite easily."

It was so obvious what he was trying to do. "I don't want to hear anecdotes, Professor." I told him sharply. "I see no point in trying to generate affection for a man who is dead, and who clearly didn't care about me when he was alive, anyway."

The look Dumbledore gave me was very pointed. "Miss Dahlquist." He said slowly, pressing the tips of his pointer fingers together. This was, and anybody could see as much, clearly the beginning of a long lecture. I sighed, annoyed, and he paused, giving me a long look. Noticing his raised eyebrow, I sat up straighter and shot him a brilliantly bright smile. Evidently, he decided to ignore my cavalier attitude towards the entire situation, and he continued with a tired looking smile. "I am aware that you don't particularly like me." Understatement. "I am aware that you have very little respect for me, and that you resent the situation you are in and consider it _my_ fault." True. "But, I would greatly appreciate it if you could listen _without_ passing judgement. Try to keep an open mind."

He waited for a moment, and when it became clear that I wasn't going to make any snarky response, he continued. "Good." But it was obvious from the look in his eyes that he didn't believe I would really listen to him. And hey, I wasn't planning on it. He tried anyway. "Sirius' belongings go to Harry. As does the house." He paused. "It is, technically, just the one house. The Black family properties fell into the hands of relatives upon the death of Walburga Black." He paused. "Your maternal grandmother."

This was surreal enough already without _more_ family members being introduced. I sighed, leaning back and kicking my feet out in front of me. "I'd never really thought about having a grandmother." I mused, considering the possibilities. "Was she also a convicted criminal?"

Dumbledore chose to ignore that. "Other properties were, sadly, sold. I believe that the Parkinson Manse was originally a Black property." I smiled. That would be fun to tell Pansy. "Also, Narcissa Malfoy _also_ inherited a few." Interesting. Although not altering my demeanour in the slightest, I listened intently to everything Dumbledore was saying. "Of course, none of these properties fall to you."

"I remain unacknowledged?" I asked liltingly.

There was a pause. "_Officially_." Dumbledore offered finally.

I sighed, examining my nails. "There's that word again." I said lightly. And then I looked up at him. Perhaps that was a mistake, because no matter how whimsical or girlish I could make myself seem, the second people saw my razor-sharp gaze, they knew that I was thinking hard behind all my charm. "You seem to be implying something was said _un_officially."

Dumbledore remained quiet for a moment, then sighed a little, pulling his ugly briefcase onto his lap. "It is true that Sirius has left you nothing." He said bluntly. "His will did not even mention you." I nodded- he had said this already. "There was, however, this." Very carefully, Dumbledore pulled a thick pile of parchment out from the briefcase. They were a mess of loose sheets of all different colours. Some appeared to be old essays or assignments, and some were clearly torn out of notebooks, but almost all of them shared one characteristic – they were all covered in a messy, hurried, scrawl, written entirely in what must have been _purple_ ink.

I eyed the pile warily. "Tell me it isn't his taxes?" Dumbledore smiled kindly, but said nothing else. I glanced up at him. "Well?" I asked. "What is it?"

He gave me a rueful smile. "I am not in the habit of reading other people's mail." He told me. "And this… is clearly addressed to you." Very carefully, he bent the first page back. I picked it up wordlessly, my eyes skimming across the messy scrawl.

_"I am writing this in my brother's room, at his old desk (which is definitely of better quality than my own) in his old room._

_I tried to begin it in mine, but the walls seemed to close in on me, and all I could see was her face as she smirked at the posters which wallpapered my room. I can still see that smirk, clear as day. The most annoyingly lovely expression in the world._

_She stopped at one, I remember, of a blonde, busty muggle straddling a motorbike, and delicately pressed one finger against the girl's face, as though testing the quality of the paper._

_"Tasteful,"__she'd said, one eyebrow raised, lips curved into an expression of elegant disdain, "I do so love what you've done with the place."_

_Reg's room is so much less crowded. The memories are sparse in here, and oddly, considering that the task at hand is to remember, this seems to make concentrating easier. I suppose it will be hard enough to dreg up my past without thoughts of her distracting me._

_It is currently about two in the morning, and the little bit of sky I can see through Reg's window is a sort of murky grey-blue. Almost black, actually, which seems rather appropriate. I'm not sure of the date, but I do have an idea that it's a Wednesday. It is quite possible that I am wrong- the days all seem to blur here._

_But all that is unimportant._

_You should know, mysterious somebody, that I am writing this for you. Thoughts of you dragged me here at this indiscriminate hour to pen an explanation for my absence in your life._

_It's Harry's fault, actually._

_I suppose it is childish of me to foist the blame onto my 15year old godson, but I never claimed to be anything other than childish. Being childish was natural when I was a child, sort of charming when I was young and handsome, and now as I approach middle age, has become a habit. And so I shamelessly point the finger at Harry. When you're thinking back on your happy ignorance and wishing you had never found out, it is on him that you should vent your no doubt considerable anger. I'll explain why later, for now just take my word for it- scream, shout, slap him across the face._

_You have my permission._

_And, with your family history, I have no doubt that your tantrums will be of epic proportions. After all, with true dramatics for parents and the magic equivalents of the antichrist for grandparents, vicious overreactions are pretty much your legacy._

_But enough of these pleasantries. We're not at a tea party or a ministry function. This isn't a pleasant conversation. This, mysterious somebody, is an account of my Hogwarts years._

_Or, more accurately, an account of my life._

_Before and after? Well, I walked around and breathed and spoke, but I wasn't alive. Not in the sense that I'd define the word._

_Before the events of this manuscript I don't think I was fully awake; after I was simply a shell of what once had been._

_The rest of my existence has been rather black and white, but in between, that brief, vivid flash of colour, that was me. That was my life, and therefore that is the subject of this tale._

_I'm not sure that this is even a good idea._

_Would it be simpler to write an impersonal account of my life from day one? Would you prefer that? But I think you'll like this. After all, you're like her, and this is what she would have told me to do._

_"You think she cares about your third birthday? About the time you had the chickenpox? Do you really believe she'd be interested in an account of the months you've spent cooped up in your ancestral home, wallowing? Show her you, Sirius, help her understand."_

_I think that was what she would have said. And I imagine, being her, she would have said it in a rather patronizing and sardonic tone._

_I had promised myself that I would not allow the memories to swamp me- that I would not reminisce. Reminiscing, she always maintained, is for old people. She always said that if you have time to reminisce, you are not living._

_Maybe she was right._

_But I am not living, not really, and I think I will have to swamp myself in memories to do this; maybe that is the only way I will get it done._

_And it has to be done, mysterious somebody, it simply has to. Because you deserve it. Whether you burn it or treasure it will be up to you, but either way, you need to see this._

_You need to read these words, to understand them._

_You're so young, and no doubt so foolish. You have to know more than what you do now, to understand the past and how it shaped everything that is happening in our world today. You need to understand how the people that surround you became who they are. And more than all of that, you need to understand me._

_After all, a daughter deserves to know her father, doesn't she?"_

I read the first page in a rush – my eyes darting over the words and absorbing them faster than I could comprehend. It felt like an hour since Dumbledore had passed me this mess of parchment, but it could only have been a moment or two. I read so very fast when I want to. And yet, it wasn't til the very last words that I really understood just what I was holding. The realisation floored me. "It's a…" I caught myself just before I blurted out my life story to Dumbledore. I stopped speaking and straightened my back. Dumbledore was watching me from behind guarded eyes, almost expectantly. "Yes. This is for me." I paused.

His smile was kind. "I know." He told me gently. "I know it is. Sirius would have been so terribly sad not to have given it to you himself."

I felt something twitch inside of me, some emotion not felt for years, something strange and uncomfortable and painful and beautiful all at once.

Something I associated with my mother.

But I buried it instantly. Now was not the time to be thinking of the past, or indulging in useless emotions. I pasted a bright smile onto my face. "Well." I said sweetly. "So kind of you to deliver…. This." I didn't know what to call the manuscript.

His answering nod was regal and cheerful. "My pleasure, Miss Dahlquist." Apparently sensing my desire to see the last of him, he sprung to his feet. I always found it unnerving how mobile he was – people as old as him should surely be at least a _little_ lethargic. "Well – I'd best be off."

My smile was tight. "Yes." I said simply, standing as gracefully as I could. "You'd best."

The walk to the door was (thankfully) brief, and we didn't speak the entire time. My eyes flicked once to the top of the stairs, but if Draco had been waiting for me before, he wasn't there now. Our goodbyes were civil enough. Dumbledore was jolly, as per usual, but I was running on autopilot, my mind back inside the battered old briefcase Dumbledore had left on the coffee table. Back to the memories which were addressed to me.

And then, something occurred to me, something which struck me as more frightening than I'd initially expected, and I couldn't help but call out "Are they – are you sure?"

Dumbledore paused at the door, his face in stark profile against the light outside. From this angle, he seemed to be stepping out of a shadowy world – the gloom of Malfoy Manor clinging to the hem of his robe. I knew the feeling. "Am I sure of what, Miss Dahlquist?" He asked politely.

I clasped my hands behind my back and lifted my chin. "Are you sure that… are you sure of my parentage?" _'A daughter'_, that's all it had said. No name, nor any sort of indication that I was the person Sirius Black had been talking to. It could have been anyone, and I _refused_ to allow myself to form emotional attachments to a man who might not even be anybody to me.

After a moment, Dumbledore turned to face me, a thoughtful look on his face. "I am." He told me quite clearly. "Your mother was very much in love with Sirius, and quite loyal to a select few. She would not have betrayed him."

"He didn't acknowledge me." I pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps _he_ was not convinced."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps." He mused, tapping a finger against his beard. "Or perhaps he wanted a different life for you than the one he had." His reply stumped me, and I felt utterly incapable of answering him. Dumbledore seemed to sense this, because with a small, almost affectionate, smile, he tipped his hat to me, spun on his heel and disapparated.

..

.  
>xxxxxxxxxxxxx<br>..

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A/N: Oh my gosh, it's been awhile. I am so sorry! Big thanks to anybody sticking with me while I trickle out the updates. On that note: big thank you to **andiescandieee**, **The Agent of Fire** and **Katie**. always great to hear from you all!

If it is any consolation, the reason this has taken this long (at least partially) is because this chapter was going to be about twice the length. I've now realised that this was unmanageable. That's also the reason for the lack of Blaise and Harry in this chapter. Just wait - they're coming next time around, which honestly shouldn't be long because it's 80% finished.

Just because I'm that sorry, here's a little preview: 

_"So." Draco said, his eyes alight with knowledge. "You two."_

_Blaise shot me an accusatory glare. "What?" I asked defensively. "I didn't tell him anything. And it's not like we've been holding hands. Why would this be my fault?"_

_"It might have something to do with the fact that you live with him." Blaise said disdainfully. "I haven't seen him in weeks. It's clearly you."_

_Draco sighed. "You're both fools." He snapped at us, and Blaise and I stopped bickering and began looking sheepish, like children being told off. Satisfied that we had stopped, Draco nodded curtly, then turned his gaze on me. "You know you're an idiot for getting into this." He said. It wasn't a question._

_I shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. "I know." I admitted._

_He turned next to Blaise. "So are you. You are being especially stupid."_

_Blaise looked a little disgruntled. "Look, Malfoy…"_

_"No." Draco snapped, cutting him off. "No, you know what I mean, Blaise. I won't bother saying it out loud, but you know what I mean."_

_Blaise met his gaze squarely. "Are you going to punch me? Threaten me with all sorts of creative torture if I hurt her?"_

_Draco shrugged. "It takes a lot to hurt Estelle." He told Blaise. "And if you do, I'm sure she will want to take care of it herself."  
><em>

__Alrighty... and it isn't too far off, so please do review! they'll be in Diagon Alley, shopping for school supplies, so if anybody has any characters they'd particularly like to see, let me know and I'll pop them in there :)

Thanks, all xxx


	23. Chapter 23

Let's skip ahead.

To set the scene, it's been a few weeks. Nothing much has changed – my routines are the same, although I've stopped meeting with Blaise. Draco and Narcissa are gone almost all of the time, now, only for the past few weeks, they've been coming home separately. Draco first, with his shoulders squared and a look of terror mixed with determination on his face. Narcissa comes later, and she always looks as though she's been crying.

But I don't speak to them about that, or at all, really. Instead, I sit in my room and stare at a giant pile of parchment, trying to decide whether or not I should read it.

It means a lot, this manuscript.

Sirius Black says he wants me to _know_ him. That carries a lot of implications and a lot of questions.

First of all, there really is no guarantee (besides the ever-trustworthy word of Dumbledore, Harry's pronouncement and Lupin and Macgonnagal's agreement) that Sirius Black is my father.

My mother never mentioned him. Not once. And although many people, including Narcissa, believe that he fathered me, they only seem to think so based on the quality of my mother's character. As though she wouldn't ever cheat on a man.

That is no assurance.

Of course, the part of me that desperately wants to be the daughter of Sirius Black responds to _that_ with the little coincidence that I have the same eyes as him.

I won't lie – since receiving the manuscript, I have sought out some photos of my supposed father in the old archives down in Diagon Alley. I found one of him leaning against a motorbike and grinning like an idiot. Every now and then, he executes a sarcastic salute. Of course, there's the maniacal photo from the 'wanted' posters, but I hardly think that's an appropriate addition to the family photo albums. I found a photo of two boys, one of whom _may_ be Sirius Black, up in the attic with Narcissa's old things. One of the boys is pouting – his robes look too big and he has a face like a smacked bottom. The other one is a perfectly adorable little thing, but with such a look of mischief on his face that you can just tell he's a handful. Also, he _does_ appear to be dropping slugs down his younger brother's robes – that is also a clue.

But he doesn't look like me. Or rather, I look nothing like him.

That's one problem. The second, and _much_ larger one, has to be that I'm scared.

I've lost a parent before. They tell me now that I've lost another in the form of the once-charming, once-clever Sirius Black, but I never knew him, so although initially I was devastated, my grief never developed.

Do I want to change that?

He writes that I have a right to know him, and so I do. But do I _want_ to?

_Should_ I want to?

So, rather than make any sort of decision, I brooded for weeks upon end. And _that_ is how Draco found me one sunny morning – standing by my window and glaring at the fistful of loose papers in my hands.

"Estelle? Did you hear me?"

I looked up from the window distractedly. "Hmmn?"

Draco was standing in the doorway, awkwardly clutching a letter. He waved it at me now, looking miserable. "I got my results back." I stood up so quickly that I got my foot caught in the drapes and fell flat on my face. Draco was at my side in a second, trying to help me up. "Honestly, Estelle." He snapped as I groaned, rubbing at my nose. "How you manage to make simple things like _standing_ into a drama I shall never understand. What's this?"

"What's what?" I asked grumpily, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Draco held up a fistful of Sirius' papers, and my heart leapt in my chest. "Don't!" I demanded, lunging forwards and snatching them off of him. "Can't let them get out of order." He raised an eyebrow, and I tried to shift my expression into one which appeared a little more sane. "Carmeline." I told him, rolling my eyes with a convincing show of irritation. "I asked her to send me her notes from potions, because Snape _won't_ leave me alone, and she sends me this… mess!" I sighed exasperatedly and glared at the sheets of paper. "I've only just got them sorted."  
>Satisfied with my performance, I turned back to face Draco.<p>

He, by contrast, appeared markedly _less_ satisfied with my performance. "Why do you bother trying to lie to me?" He asked, sounding incredibly tired. I blinked, a rabbit caught in the headlights.

Instantly, a whole array of strategies blossomed in my mind, but with a sigh, I dismissed them. "I didn't tell you everything about Dumbledore's visit." I told him with uncharacteristic bluntness. "He _did_ give me something."

He looked almost comically shocked, considering the situation. I'd told Draco and Narcissa that Dumbledore had dropped by to tell me that I hadn't been officially acknowledged and to apologise for the events of last year. I'd made my tale convincing enough, even complaining about the sentimentality of Gryffindors, but it should have been obvious to Draco at the least that there was more to the story.

Draco's gaze was steady. "You lied to us?"

I considered that explanation. "I _omitted_." I corrected him. "There was no out-and-out lying involved."

I gazed at Draco then, taking the opportunity to analyse his appearance. He looked tired again – of course, he hadn't been sleeping – and he was thinner, too. His hair, however, was perfectly neat to the point of obscenity. It had been combed back from his brow so sharply that I could see little pink slivers of his scalp showing through the blonde, and the shape of his skull was pronounced. That meant that inwardly, he must be a mess.

I wondered whether or not I should ask him about what was going on.

'Draco', I would hypothetically say. 'I know you and Narcissa are meeting with Bellatrix. I know You-Know-Who is probably there, too. What are you doing? What do you talk about? Are they going to kill me? Will people get hurt?'

But those were difficult questions to ask. Still, hesitantly, I tried. "Draco," I began.

He cut me off straight away. "So what is it that you didn't tell us?" He asked.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, frustrated by the moment I'd lost. "It's… a letter."

"A _long_ letter." Draco commented, sounding almost like his old self.

I wondered whether or not I should explain, or if I _could_ explain at all. It all seemed too surreal. And then I caught sight of the letter still crumpled in Draco's hand, and an idea occurred to me. "Here." I said, thrusting the first two sheets of parchment at him. "We can swap."

Somewhat tentatively, Draco took the parchment from me, pulling it towards him and beginning to read. I, meanwhile, examined his report.

It wasn't pretty. In fact, it was fairly depressing, especially considering how hard Draco had worked. Instinctively, I wanted to smirk and rub it in his face, but glancing over at him, I knew that I couldn't do that. He was sitting cross legged on my carpet, peering intently at the first pages of Sirius' manuscript. Every now and then his eyebrows would soar high up into his hairline before slowly returning to their normal position. It was somewhere between amusing and ridiculous. As I watched him, I felt a rush of affection for him. Odd though he was, insecure and uptight he may be, Draco was still my brother in all but name. Smiling slightly, I turned back to his report.

It hadn't improved while I'd been gazing at Draco. I winced in empathetic shame – even Snape hadn't been able to bring himself to give Draco a decent mark. I had no idea how he was going to be able to get into any of the NEWT courses this year. While I brooded, Draco must have finished reading because the next thing I knew, his voice was dragging me up from my reverie.

"So what did you think?"

I glanced up at Draco. "I think…" I bit my lip. "I think you need a tutor." He gave a hoarse laugh, and I sighed. "I _think_ that Snape is _very_ good at casting charms on the reports of the Slytherin students to make sure they can't be magically tampered with." And then I grinned. "But I _also_ think that he forgets the more timeless methods."

Draco frowned in confusion as I dropped to my hands and knees and pulled a box out from under my bed. It wasn't something I'd shown Draco often – or ever, really – but today I had little choice.

"What is that?" He asked cautiously.

I smiled at him, flicking it open and beginning to rifle through it. "Muggle stuff." I said in the spookiest voice I could muster. "Beware!" He rolled his eyes, and I was once again struck by how much more he looked like himself. Really, it just highlighted how much he'd changed. I shot him a smile. "Art supplies. See? Here are your paints." He peered over my shoulder, nodding as he caught sight of the oils he'd given me for Christmas.

And then his eyes travelled further. "This is a big trunk." He told me simply, and I couldn't help but laugh.

It had been _Maman's_ – the one thing she had owned which was openly magical. It was a large, flat wooden box upon first examination, but when you opened it up and pushed the storage compartments to one side, it revealed a flight of stairs leading down to a small room. Looking at it now, Draco frowned in the darkness, clearly making out the dozens of drawings and paintings I had pinned up all over the walls of my secret room. "You did all of these?" He asked me, apparently in awe.

I smiled shyly. "Maybe. I'm not committing to an answer until I know you are going to be nice."

He pulled his head back reluctantly, meeting my gaze, and suddenly I remembered the reason for my presence there. "Oh!" I gasped, snapping my fingers and pulling a felt tip pen from the box. Draco ignored me completely, allowing me to smooth out his report and carefully place pen to paper. "We can turn these marks around." I promised him, executing a particularly creative manoeuvre in order to turn the 'T' he'd received for herbology into an 'A'. "Not a lot, mind you, but enough that Aunt Narcissa won't worry."

"She worries anyway." Draco muttered angrily. And then, as I made a sympathetic 'mmn' noise, he viciously continued with. "I'm not a child anymore!" This was an uncharacteristically violent outburst, but I knew better than to comment on it. Instead, I remained as I was, hunched over his report, only allowing my eyes to flick briefly over to him as he raged. "She thinks she has to _protect_ me, but she doesn't." He spat. "She thinks I'm not old enough… but I'll tell you something – I'm plenty old." I glanced at him again. He had his fingers clenched into fists, and he was shaking with anger and something a little stranger… fear? "I'm old enough to do _anything_ now. And besides, now that father is gone, I'm the man of the house."

I quickly gave up pretending we were having a normal conversation and leaned back against the wall, giving him my full attention and watching him from under hooded eyes. Here it was – the moment when Draco felt vulnerable or alone enough to open up to me. But when he got like this, he was easily startled, like a little deer in the woods. I had to be careful not to push him too far. I had to play my cards right. After a moment's consideration, I replied with a softly voiced. "It _is_ a big deal."

"I can handle it!" Draco snapped, oblivious to my scheming. "I'm _strong_, and _clever_…"

"Like Lucius." I ventured quietly.

He nodded slowly. "Exactly." He said. "And even if he couldn't bring our family glory, I can. I can repair _everything_, and we will be _so _respected." I had frozen, beyond petrified by the implications of his words. "I'll be a hero." He choked out next. "I'll be the special one, the one _everybody_ loves. Not second best anymore."

I could have kept going, calling out carefully worded one-liners and prising the information out of him bit by bit, but just then, I didn't have the heart. My brain took a step back and all I felt was pity and love for my idiotic big cousin, who was hurting so much. I was by his side in an instant. "You're not second best _now_." I pointed out. We weren't hugging – that didn't happen often – but I was sitting very close to him, one hand hovering above his back. "You never have been."

Of course, the problem with offering a Malfoy comfort is that they instantly feel they are appearing weak. At my words, he sat bolt upright, jumping away from me. "Where's the report?" He asked after a long, uncomfortable silence. "I should show mother."

Damn it.

I'd ruined it. _That_ was why Slytherins worked so hard to be detached. If you didn't, then things like this happened, where your heart got in the way of your ambition and you missed golden opportunities. Resigned, I sighed and held out the report to him. "I've changed the 'P's and 'T's into 'A's." I told him. "I turned your 'D' into an 'O'.. and _that_ is a little farfetched, so you'd best study hard this year."

Draco snatched it from me and marched towards the door, but when he reached the landing, he turned back to face me. There was a long moment in which we both stared at each other wordlessly. I was taking in his appearance. He looked so _frightened_ all of the time, recently. So lost. And that was leaving aside the fact that he'd gotten so thin and haunted looking since the end of school. I'm sure he must have thought the same thing about me, because he frowned a little as his eyes travelled over my face. "You should read it." He said with a disdainful sniff. I knew it took a lot for him to say that. Any insinuation that I didn't belong exclusively to his family always got him into a snit. When I refused to refer to the manor as 'home', or when I first arrived and told him he didn't count as family because he wasn't French (I was _not_ the most charming of children). Even when I introduced myself as a Dahlquist, he seemed annoyed. So, as he stood there staring at me, I knew that he had my best interests at heart and was promoting them (albeit reluctantly). "If you don't." He said now, "you'll probably never go back to being at least _mildly_ tolerable."

That annoyed me. I crossed my arms and tossed my head. "As though _you_ can talk." I snapped at him, but he was gone, darting off without another word.

…

Life continued. Holidays continued.

Bit by bit, the flow of hate mail began to ebb and things returned to normal. Draco and Narcissa were still rarely at home, but I preferred that. Lately, when they'd been home all they'd done is fight, and that _annoyed_ me to no end. I'd recently noticed that the Ministry seemed to be watching us, but in a way I could understand why that was necessary, so I ignored it. Or, if I was feeling particularly malicious, danced in front of the many huge arched windows in my bra and undies to make them uncomfortable.

I also began reading Sirius' manuscript.

I'm no Gryffindor – doing this didn't come easily to me. Really, reading it would end with a massive confrontation between my beliefs about my mother (and now father) and what _Sirius_ believed about the situation. I really wasn't sure what I'd do if the two sides didn't match up, and it terrified me.

Still, I persevered. I read (with a modicum of amusement and empathy, despite myself) about him being sorted into Gryffindor. I met Arthur Weasley. I met Harry's parents (and noticed gleefully that they _despised_ each other). I met young Lupin, and some fourth member of their group – an uninteresting little character called Peter. I met Snape, and it was so very difficult to dislike Sirius Black after I became aware of our mutual hatred of my potions professor.

I met Bellatrix Lestrange, aged 12 – beautiful, young, clever and very devoted to her family.

It gave me the shivers, to think what she'd become.

But what struck me, what _continued_ to strike me, was just how un-Slytherin Sirius Black was. Every little thing he did was calculated, so it seemed, but never to benefit or advance _himself_. Rather, he seemed obsessed with annoying everybody who'd been a part of his life before Hogwarts. He loved to rebel, and he loved being in the limelight. It came so naturally to him.

And what was amazing was that despite being from a family hated by blood traitors, despite being a pompous Slytherin delegated to Gryffindor. Despite being the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing, nobody seemed to dare to challenge Sirius Black, and he didn't seem to care.

I admired that about him. I really did.

But then, Sirius' manuscript mentioned Kreacher, and I flew into a rage because even the house elf had had a chance to meet my father, and I never had. Not really. So, with an ice-cold demeanour, I summoned Kreacher to ask him about my father.

He didn't come. Couldn't or wouldn't, I wasn't sure, but for the first time since he'd popped up, he didn't answer when I called him. And it was odd, because I could almost feel him _trying_ to come, straining at the leash in a manner of speaking, but he never did. And then, of course, I realised why not. Kreacher belonged to the Noble House of Black. And the Noble House of Black was the property of one Harry Potter.

I have never been so very furious in my life. Instantly, I was angry at Sirius Black for taking away my inheritance (I'd accepted that he probably _was_ my father, and on some level after seeing what he was like I _wanted_ that to be the case) and angry at the Malfoys for keeping it from me and _furious_ at Potter for being more loved than I was.

I walked around in a funk for almost a week. Draco gave me a wide berth, of course – he had wonderful self-preservation instincts. I didn't speak to anybody during that time, until one day when I was stalking around one of the parlours, trying to bring myself to keep reading the manuscript (illogically, I'd decided that I could best demonstrate my displeasure with Sirius Black by giving him the silent treatment. He was dead, which complicated things, so I'd reduced it to simply not reading his work anymore).

I was cursing _everybody_ I was angry at (a fairly long list) when I noticed that the fire had flashed green.

I dropped to my knees, waiting for our caller to make himself or herself known, but after a few minutes, it became clear that they weren't going to. That in itself told me _exactly_ who was calling.

With a resigned sigh, I squished my eyes shut and stuck my head through the fire, blinking the soot out of my eyes and gazing up at Blaise.

He was standing up (of course – he just _had_ to be in a position of superiority) and gazing down at me with complete disdain. It was fairly clear that my lack of punctuality had annoyed him, which seemed unfair seeing as he was the one who'd called me. Etiquette dictated that _he_ should be on his hands and knees, looking like a buffoon and choking on soot. But then, etiquette was never one of Blaise's strong suits.

"I haven't seen you in _weeks_ and I really feel that defeats the purpose of our arrangement." Blaise sounded snarky, despite himself.

I was instantly annoyed. "Well, hello to you, too." I snapped, coughing a little. Blaise _never_ voluntarily used the floo system – he left that to us.

"I didn't _say_ 'hello'." Blaise pointed out, sounding bored. "You are I aren't exactly on the sort of terms where you bother to exchange pleasantries."

I batted my eyelashes charmingly. "Because we're already _so_ close?"

His expression was deadpan. "Because neither of us particularly cares what the other person has to say." That also seemed fair. I shrugged in agreement and made to respond, but Blaise cut me off, assumedly in order to prove his previous statement. "When am I likely to see you and Draco?"

Keeping the triumphant smile off my face was nearly impossible – _he_ had buckled first. Not me. _He_ had sought _me_ out after I'd stopped seeing him. He _needed_ me. Evidently, he sensed this emotion and shot me a vicious scowl. I was hardly perturbed. But then, I considered. Wasn't this possibly the perfect time for me to discuss my newfound revelations with Blaise? Batting my eyelashes, I smiled up at him. "We need to talk."

Blaise's eyes flashed so quickly that I might even have imagined it. Then he signed and leaned languidly against the fireplace, gazing down at me. "That was fast." He said, sounding bored. "I thought you'd last a little longer before you decided you'd had enough of this."

It was clear what he thought I wanted to discuss. "I don't want to end this." I told him quite bluntly. And then, with a quick flick of my wand, I cast a hurried silencing charm around myself. It wouldn't do for Draco or Narcissa to overhear. "I've just realised that I'm _far_ more at risk than you are, if this arrangement goes awry."

There might have been relief on Blaise's face, or he might just have needed to sneeze. "I would have thought you'd already considered _that_, Estelle." He told me coolly. "After all, you were the one to suggest it, and you _do_ have a history of being fairly… _cunning_... when it comes to any sort arrangement."

I placed a hand on my heart. "Oh, Blaise." I said emphatically. "You _flatter_me."

He rolled his eyes. "It _is_ a quality generally attributed to those in our house." He pointed out. "No need to get snooty over it. And really, I'm being honest." His eyes were guarded. "I don't know anybody who approaches situations with such detachment from their emotions."

I considered that. "except for you." I pointed out.

Blaise looked away. "Indeed." Just as suddenly, he met my gaze again. "Now – your terms. I'd like to make some of my own first." I conceded him this, my eyes narrowed in suspicion as he began to list them off. "_No_ public displays of affection." He told me.

I nodded. "Agreed. It's _tacky_." I considered. "In fact, extend that to 'no spending undue time together in public'. We need to maintain the illusion that we're not even _friends_."

Blaise looked annoyed, and apparently decided to one-up me. "_No_ obligatory conversations about 'feelings'." His lip curled in distaste. I nodded again – that went without saying, really – and he moved on. "And I reserve the right to tell you if you look terrible or are gaining weight."

"I reserve the right to ignore your wishes if you do so." I answered calmly. Now we were both thoroughly annoyed with each other, but we pushed on. "Those sound amenable." I told him. "But you forgot the most important one."

He raised an eyebrow. "Which would be?"

I would have thought this was obvious. "Not public. Not even at Hogwarts."

Blaise's brow furrowed. "Not even at Hogwarts?" he asked lightly. "Hogwarts means nothing. Why bother hiding things there?"

I shrugged. "Because I said so." I told him. "I don't want to risk my reputation."

That was when it clicked for Blaise. "Ah." He said knowingly. "In case of future… unions."

My nod was curt. "Exactly."

There was a long pause before Blaise spoke again, and he sounded hesitant and uncomfortable. "Alright then." He said, giving a good show of being calm. "I suppose, in light of this conversation, the correct question would be 'when will I be seeing Draco'?"

"Hmmnn…" I considered, biting my lip. "Well, we _do_ have to get school supplies. I think we'll be heading in to the Alley next week. I'll ask Draco. _Drake_?" Blaise winced as I leaned out of the fire, calling Draco.

"What?" He demanded, stepping in from the next room.

I smiled sweetly at him. "It's Blaise." I said "He wants to know when we're going to The Alley."

Draco frowned suspiciously. "Why didn't he ask me?"

Good question. "I am asking you." And there was Blaise's head in the fire. I raised an eyebrow- he usually kicked up such a fuss at the idea of getting soot on his robes, and yet here he was, presumably on his hands and knees and with his _entire_ head sticking out of our fire place. He'd probably get ash in his hair, and then the poor house elves would have to deal with his tantrums. "It's hardly my fault that Estelle is the only one to ever _answer_. And then, once she's engaged you in conversation, she doesn't stop talking. It's as though she doesn't understand social cues."

My smile was dangerously bright. "I understand social cues, Blaise." I said tightly. "I was just always told that they were for _polite_ society. And right now, I'm talking to _you_."

"Claws in, Estelle." Draco said tiredly. Then he frowned sharply. "I forgot- what did you want to know?"

"When we're going to The Alley." I repeated patiently. It had been a while since I'd seen Draco acting so normally. Clearly, it would be good for him to see Blaise. "I thought we were heading in next Wednesday. That's right, isn't it?"

"No." Draco said sharply. Blaise and I exchanged a look of concern. Draco had suddenly gone quite white, and it made the bags under his eyes stand out. His jaw was clenched and his fingers were curled tightly into fists. Apparently becoming aware of our scrutiny, he looked up at us, blinking. "No. No, Wednesday…. Is not a good day."

We waited for a few seconds, and when it was clear that Draco wasn't planning on continuing, I sighed. "So _when_, Drake?" I asked carefully.

He blinked. "Um, perhaps Saturday?"

Blaise nodded. "Saturday sounds good." He said. "I'll arrange it with Mother."

There was an uncomfortable pause as Blaise waited for Draco to go, and Draco waited for Blaise to go and I stood between them, incredibly amused.

"Did you want anything else, Blaise?" Draco asked pointedly after an extended period of time had elapsed.

Blaise shot me a look of incandescent rage behind Draco's back. It was clearly _my _fault he was crouching in the ashes like a peasant, and _my_ fault that his question had necessitated calling Draco and _my_ fault that now Draco wouldn't let us speak.

"No." He admitted. "Nothing either of you would be equipped to help with." Then he sighed, looking over at Draco again. "You look like shit, my friend."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm closing the floo network." He warned Blaise, who, annoyed, withdrew without another word. Draco sighed, shaking his head and gazing at the spot where Blaise's head had been poking out. "That was utterly unlike him." He snapped at me. "I don't know _why_ you always do this. This seemed wildly unfair as an accusation, but I wisely let it pass without comment. And then Draco's eyes caught on the pages in my hands. "How slowly do you read?" He hissed angrily. "You should have finished that thing _weeks_ ago, and put it behind you!" I said nothing, feeling inexplicably guilty. Draco's eyes narrowed. "At the very least make sure mother doesn't see it." He insisted. "She's been overly emotional lately, and she _doesn't_ need to think that your loyalties are shifting."

I nodded. That seemed fair enough. But as Draco made to leave, I couldn't help but call after him. "Drake?" He paused, irritated, waiting for me to speak. "Drake, what's happening on Wednesday?"

He left.

….

So, when Wednesday came around and Draco disappeared again, I sat in my room with a sandwich and a block of chocolate and read. I met my Rodolphus Lestrange for the first time, as a skinny and possessive boyfriend for Bellatrix. And later, with very little pomp and fanfare, I met my mother.

Sirius didn't really care about her at first. Which worked well because she clearly thought he was an idiot. Reading about their early interactions made me feel a little embarrassed for being so gleeful about how little Harry's parents liked each other to begin with. It did, however, make me doubt once again whether or not Sirius Black was my father – they seemed so ill suited, and I couldn't imagine my mother putting up with him. But father or not, I found myself growing fond of Sirius Black. All of his little quirks, his arrogance, his loyalty, the huge conflict between his morals and his upbringing. It all seemed so familiar to me, and I found myself caring about him.

About a dead man. I'd known this would be a terrible idea.

Draco and Narcissa came home in the early hours of Thursday morning. This time, when I watched them coming towards the house, I could tell something was wrong. Draco was shaking, and Narcissa was trying to support him, but struggling under the weight. I pressed my face up against the cool glass of the window and watched, tears welling in my eyes as I watched my cousin half-convulsing on the path. Then, with a snap of light, another figure appeared, scooping Draco up from the other side, helping Narcissa carry him awkwardly up to the house. I pulled the window open and leaned all the way out, my hair falling around my face and being whipped up into snarls by the wind.

Together, Narcissa and the stranger pulled Draco into the house and out of my line of sight. Panicking now, I ducked back inside, running silently out onto the landing and crouching behind the bannister. I peered through the railing like a child out past their bedtime, watching Narcissa groan in pain as she laid Draco down onto a couch.

"He's in shock, I think." She said quietly, placing a hand against her son's forehead. "I know sometimes they don't react well… when it's administered." The man said nothing at all, and Narcissa continued. "Bella didn't." She said, and though her voice was calm, you could hear the desperation just beneath the surface – she was trying to justify Draco's state, but I couldn't work out why. "She was ill for days afterwards. I remember that. And she's His most loyal follower – this means nothing."

There was a long, tense pause before the man answered her. "Of course not, Narcissa." My hands clutched at the bannister in shock. It was Snape – _Professor_ Snape, who I'd despised forever. He'd gone back to check on Draco, he'd helped Narcissa carry him up the steps and now he was comforting her. "It means nothing at all – I doubt the Dark Lord even need hear about this."

Narcissa's relief was palpable. "Yes." She agreed calmly. "Yes, he certainly has more important things on his mind."

I couldn't see any more of Snape than the back of his head, but I could tell he was nodding. "Yes." He repeated, watching as Narcissa stroked Draco's hair away from his face. And then, to my surprise, he glanced up at the landing. I shrunk back into the shadows as fast and quietly as I could. "The Dahlquist girl is in bed?" He asked guardedly.

I blinked in shock, backing up against the wall as Narcissa also glanced up in my direction. "Yes." She said absently, as though confused by his question. "Yes, she isn't involved in any of this."

Snape slowly tore his gaze away from the stairs and I breathed a sigh of relief. "You really believe she is oblivious to all that is going on?" He asked scathingly. "You think she hasn't realised?"

"Of course she has." Narcissa snapped back at him, and then lowered her voice sharply as Draco murmured deliriously. "Of course she has." She repeated in a murmur. "But until she admits as much, there's little point involving her." There was another pause, and their voices were so quiet that I had to strain to hear, creeping back towards the bannister and pressing my face between the rails. "She is very young. And…" Narcissa seemed to consider her words. "And her mother would never have…" All of a sudden she seemed to realise just whom she was baring her soul to. "Thank you for your help this evening, Severus." She said elegantly. "I don't know how I would have gotten Draco inside without your help."

"With magic, no doubt." Snape drawled, apparently aware that their little moment had ended.

Narcissa shook her head, her long blonde hair swaying over her shoulders. "No." She insisted. "No, I hold to the old traditions – they say it isn't good to use magic around a newly applied mark – it can corrupt the spell. Warp it, even."

My eyes widened exponentially and I fell backwards from the bannister with a little thump. Mark? Newly applied mark? One that Draco had reacted badly to? One that Bellatrix Lestrange had, one that concerned You-Know-Who? It hit me all of a sudden just what Draco had done, and I wanted to vomit.

"Did you hear that?" Snape asked quietly, drawing his wand. Narcissa mirrored his action, and I wanted to punch myself in the face.

Stealthily, I got to my feet, ran a hand through my hair and began to shuffle along the hallway, as loudly as I could without being too obvious. Both Narcissa and Snape put their wands away when the caught sight of me at the landing. "_Mon Dieu_." I grumbled. "What _is_ it with the English…. You can't manage intrigues for shit." I rubbed sleepily at my eyes and gave a convincing yawn. "You have to make your voices _softer_." I told them grumpily. Although I had my hands over my eyes, I peeked through my fingers which gave me a perfect view of the harried look Narcissa and Snape exchanged. I yawned again, giving Snape ample opportunity to apparate away, and when I finally 'opened' my eyes, Narcissa was standing alone in the foyer, with Draco still draped on the settee, convulsing subtly. "Were you here alone, Aunt Narcissa?" I asked sleepily. "I thought I heard…."

"Go back to bed, Estelle." Narcissa interrupted, sounding completely relieved that I apparently hadn't noticed all the commotion. "You need your rest."

It is in situations like this that cunning is very important. Let us consider how members of the other houses might have behaved, had they been in my place. A Hufflepuff, on hearing Snape's quiet 'did you hear that?' would have sheepishly revealed themselves, admitted guiltily to eavesdropping, and probably been locked away for the rest of their lives by Narcissa. Not because of what they'd overheard, but because of the shame she'd feel at having a Hufflepuff ward. A Ravenclaw? Well, they're not really the best under pressure in my experience. I think they'd do about as well as a Gryffindor. Lets say…. Harry. Had Harry been in my position, he would have acted, I believe, as I did. Knowing himself to be caught, but aware that his captors meant him no harm, he would have feigned ignorance, just like I did. But here is where it would change.

Because having established that he knew nothing, Harry would get carried away with his performance. He would undoubtedly forget that he was acting as _himself_, and that's where the problems begin. Because if you do that, if you forget, you mess up.

Like right now. Narcissa had sent me to bed, and it was oh-so-tempting to trundle up the stairs with a happy wave in her direction, content to be as far from Draco and Snape and it all as was possible. But I couldn't do that. Because I was pretending to be Estelle, woken late at night by the sound of a rushed, frantic conversation. I was pretending to be Estelle, who'd trooped down the stairs to see what was going on, only to find her Aunt alone.

I was pretending to be Estelle, who would be very, very suspicious.

"What happened?" I asked, making my voice seem more alert.

Narcissa inclined her head slightly. "Nothing that need concern you." She said. "Draco had a bad dream."

I raised an eyebrow and leant against the wall. "A bad dream?" I asked, and Narcissa nodded. "A bad dream on the settee where he decided he wanted to sleep tonight?" She said nothing, just met my gaze with a hint of a challenge in her eyes. I sighed. "Fine. I'll go to bed." I told her, sounding exasperated as I could. And then, in a stroke of genius, I whirled around dramatically, shot her the darkest look I could and stomped up the stairs like a teenager having a tantrum.

It was exhilarating. I adore being devious.

Anyway, there was little point in me staying around – I had nothing left to learn. I shot a cursory glance over my shoulder as I retreated into the shadows. Narcissa wasn't watching me leave to make sure I'd obeyed her. Instead, she'd rushed to Draco's side, smoothing back his hair once again. It wasn't like her to be so incautious.

That meant that she was seriously worried, and that surprised me to some extent. Of course, personally the idea of Draco being marked made me feel sick to my stomach. This reaction was, I knew, illogical. My family supported this practice. My _friends_, too, to some degree. And yet, the thought of that… thing… being permanently etched into his skin made me shiver. It seemed so black and so very wrong – a violation.

That was _my_ reaction. But I would never have expected Narcissa's to be so similar. She was acting as though this had been done against her will – every little part of her behaviour clearly demonstrated that she was uncomfortable with the whole thing, and although I had limited experience on this matter, was sort of under the impression that when fanatics' children followed in their footsteps, 'discomfort' wasn't the first emotion they felt.

So what exactly _was_ Narcissa up to?

….

I was more excited for Saturday and our little outing to Diagon Alley than I'd realised, and when ten o'clock rolled around on that fated day, I was practically bouncing off the walls.

Or rather, _my_ equivalent to bouncing off the walls, which sort of involved tapping my fingers impatiently against the dining room table and occasionally striding over to the window and kicking my foot against the skirting boards.

"Stop that." I heard Draco snap from behind me, sounding irritated. "It's annoying."

I turned to face him, folding my arms. "Well I'm _annoyed_." I complained. "When are we going?" He didn't say anything and I almost hissed. "Draco, I haven't been out of the house in weeks! _Please_."

He looked at me coolly. "Stop making a fuss." He said snidely. "Mother is getting ready now." He looked me up and down. "Would it be too much to expect that _you_ aren't ready? That this… _ensemble_… is just something you were wearing around the house and you're _actually_ going upstairs to change into something less ridiculous?"

I met his gaze stolidly.

I was playing up a little bit – probably wearing a pretty muggle dress with a denim waistcoat and hightop shoes was a little inappropriate for Diagon Alley.

_Probably_.

He sighed. "Fine. I suppose everybody expects this now, anyway." I smiled happily, but he wasn't quite finished. "But you _will_ have to grow out of this phase soon, Estelle." He told me quite solemnly. "We have an image to uphold, and your rebelliousness doesn't gel with it."

That annoyed me more. "Did you say 'phase'?" I asked him archly. Draco didn't answer so I continued. "Would that be the 'phase' which has been the way I am since you met me? Is _that_ the 'phase' you'd be referring to?" Still, he was silent. I sighed. "I'm not changing for you, Draco." I told him, and for once I wasn't considering my words, but just letting them flow honestly out of me. "And if I'm not going to change for _you_, you can bet I won't be changing for _Him_."

This is why I keep track of what I'm saying. Because, the moment I referred to You-Know-who, Draco's eyes widened and his face flushed angrily. "Who?" He demanded harshly. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Instantly, I fell back onto the defensive. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I don't know who _you're_ talking about – don't _shout_ at me!"

No matter what sort of mess Draco had gotten himself into, he was always going to be first and foremost, my almost-brother. Which is why, despite the severity of our conversation, he instinctively followed my lead.

"I'm _not_ shouting! _You_ are shouting!" He shouted.

"No, it's definitely _you_, and it is _really_ loud!" I shouted back at him. "And you're not _meant_ to _shout_ at girls!" My mother would have shot me for uttering such sexist nonsense, but it served its purpose here. Which was, naturally, to get Draco even more annoyed.

"I'm allowed to shout at _anybody_ I want!" He bellowed. "You can't tell me not to!"

I grinned triumphantly. "I thought you _weren't_ shouting." I said in a smug voice I just _knew_ would annoy him. Unfortunately, I didn't really get a chance to see, because at that moment, Narcissa appeared, looking less than impressed at our behaviour.

"Are you quite finished, _children_?" She asked icily, arching an eyebrow at us. This was a fairly regular pattern – what was typically happened next was that Draco and I would fall instantly back into line, shooting each other conspiratorial looks behind her back – brothers in arms!

But this time, Draco did not comply with our tradition. Instead, he shot his mother a furious scowl, stalked over to the fireplace and slouched against the mantelpiece. Narcissa made absolutely no comment, but her lips pursed a little as she went to join him. "Now." She said authoritatively. "You are to behave. You are to stay _close_." This was directed at Draco. "No speaking to anybody we wouldn't invite to tea." This was directed at me. "No _fighting_." She looked at Draco again. That was the end of our little speech, usually, but here Narcissa paused. "Don't… don't talk to any strangers." She said carefully.

Both Draco and I were taken aback by this strange command, but she didn't give us a chance to question it, instead grasping Draco by one hand and me by the other and apparating clear away.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Massive apologies to all! I foolishly promised a quick update, forgetting about that bane of every student's existence…. Exams.

Here it is, at long last. A little rough and pretty much a filler chapter, but there you have it!

As always, thanks to my reviewers for your endlessly kind words…. Here's looking at you, **those beautiful clouds**, **Dazzled-Midnight-Melody**, **Agent of Fire**, **Katie**, **andiescandieee** and **serenitylovegood**.

I am so sorry for the wait, and thanks for sticking with me (I hope!).

Now, another reason this took this long is because I idiotically wrote the longest chapter in the world. I have now split that into two chapters: one semi-long one and one ridiculously long one. That'd be the Diagon Alley chapter… so take this as two-in-one, guys.

There's a little bit of Harry in the next one, for all you Harry/Estelle fans, and the next chapter they'll be back at Hogwarts, so the wait is just about over.

**Dazzled-Midnight-Melody**, I squeezed a little Tonks in there (see next chapter), but she'll actually be cropping up more in the future. After all, she does patrol at Hogwarts during Harry's sixth year. At this stage (as you may note) Estelle doesn't realise the family connection.

**Andiescandieee**…. What a good question. Honestly, I don't know. But it should pick up pace now. A little less angst and a little more action, I promise!

Keep reviewing, guys! I appreciate every one xx


	24. Chapter 24

We landed in our customary meeting place – The Silver Chalice, an uptown sort of version of the _much_ friendlier Leaky Cauldron. It was a cold place, decked out in greys and silver and white to match its name, and the staff looked at anybody under seventeen with a sort of patronising wariness, as though convinced we would begin to strip or perhaps publicly urinate at any moment.

"Mrs Malfoy." One such staff member said graciously, taking Narcissa's hand. I thought this one looked vaguely familiar, but then all of the staff had the same sort of cold, pale, elegant look. They tended to blend a little. "A pleasure to see you again." He turned his pale eyes on Draco and I and gave a small sniff of derision.

Narcissa, perhaps catching sight of the glint in my eyes, interrupted smoothly, stepping in front of me. "If you could show us to our compartment?" She asked liltingly.

One service which the Silver Chalice provides which the Leaky Cauldron does not is a very clever little device they call a 'carry all'. It's a sort of compartment which, if you have the key to, will act as a portal between you and your home, transporting all of your purchases back the second you buy them. Narcissa, being something of a compulsive shopper, loved these things. I was less enthusiastic, although I did sometimes wonder what it would be like to be transported by it. I supposed it would be somewhere between side-along apparition and a portkey, but I couldn't be too sure.

"I'll wait here, Aunt Narcissa." I told her sweetly, but to my surprise, her politely irritated response was cut short by an angry outburst from Draco.

"Well I want to wait, too." He snapped, as defensively as if she'd slapped him across the face and ordered him to accompany her.

His voice was much louder than good breeding considered acceptable, but Narcissa didn't skip a beat. "Very well." She said calmly. "I shall arrange the compartment – you and Estelle can wait here."

Despite the fact that we'd both gotten exactly what we'd asked for (or perhaps because of it) Draco and I exchanged incredulous looks. She was going to leave us…. Alone? Narcissa _hated_ leaving us alone in public. It was fine, usually, if we were with well-behaved children of her peers, or with their parents, but when it was just Draco and I? Never. She insisted on dragging us everywhere – when she spoke to her friends, to the high-end salon she sometimes frequented. If we were in public together, we _stayed_ together. This was naturally an extension of that same old pureblood 'purity' mania. If we were with Narcissa, nobody could accuse me of being a dirty slut, or Draco of impregnating some half blood, because we were _constantly_ supervised.

Well, nobody could accuse us _much_. Which was apparently enough.

In any case, for Narcissa to allow us to spend time utterly alone while in public was very rare. So rare, in fact, that Draco and I almost missed our window of opportunity, instead just staring at her blankly. To my shame, it was Draco who recovered first. He nodded sharply at his mother, grabbed me by the wrist and dragged my bodily from The Silver Chalice as the nondescript attendant called out a disdainful 'farewell'.

"Aggressive much?" I snapped at Draco, yanking my arm free the second we were out of Narcissa's sight. "I thought you were going to rip my wrist off." He didn't answer me – he was simply staring around with a sort of confused expression on his face. Perturbed by his apparent shock, I looked up at Diagon Alley for the first time in almost a year.

Everything was so very, very different. At first glance, not much had changed – there were still throngs of people bustling around, and it was still noisy, and the smell of potions and animals and food wafted around the alley.

But that was just at first glance.

"What happened?" I murmured in French. "How long were we gone?"

So many windows were boarded up. You didn't notice them at first, not through all the crowds and the hustle and bustle of the streets. But every now and then I caught a glimpse – there was the ice cream parlour, closed off. That little alternative apothecary, too. Other places, countless insignificant little places, but somehow their absence made all the difference.

And the posters, too. They lined the walls and the windows and every surface that would sit still. Huge, ugly, badly designed things advocating vigilance and caution.

"Aunt Narcissa…?" I asked quietly. Though neither Draco nor I had said anything, I'd heard Narcissa exit the Silver Chalice not long before. Apparently aware that Draco and I were taking in our surroundings, she'd said nothing, and just quietly stood between us.

Now, by my side, Narcissa stiffened a little. "Things have changed recently, Estelle." She told me, her tone clipped. "Now – let's be brief. We don't want to be here _too_ long." She caught my look and sniffed. "I find shopping tedious." She explained, but I knew better.

She was scared – scared that somebody might recognise us and attack, or ridicule or mock. She was scared of reporters and fanatics. But she had been raised not to show it. "Come along now." She said brusquely. "We have _so_ much to do."

Neither Draco nor I ventured any sort of comment, so Narcissa sighed, pursed her lips and announced. "To the apothecary, then. Potions supplies first- they always run out so quickly."

"But they'll smell." I pointed out. "I hate buying the potions ingredients."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't be silly, Estelle." He told me, tugging at his sleeve self-consciously. "Your aversion to potions is getting childish."

My eyes fixed on where he was pulling his sleeve down –on his _left_ arm, I noticed with a barely suppressed shudder – I automatically shot back with, "it isn't so much an aversion to potions as an aversion to Snape."

Narcissa, who'd been watching my reaction, followed my gaze down to Draco's sleeve. To my surprise, when she saw what he was doing, her eyes widened a little, and with a quick glance around to see if anybody was looking, she grasped his wrist firmly, pulling it away from his sleeve. "Don't _fidget_, Draco." She snapped quite viciously. And then, perhaps realising how disproportionate her displeasure was to the offence, she dropped his wrist quickly and cleared her throat. "It is _unbecoming_." She paused. "And unseemly. You know that…"

"I have told you, mother." Draco said tersely, cutting her off and pulling his arm against his chest protectively. "I don't _need_ you constantly haranguing me!" Narcissa seemed to have suddenly become selectively deaf. "I can go shopping _without_ you – I can do everything without you! I don't need your help! I don't _want_ your help!"

This all seemed curiously heated, considering that very little had actually happened. On the other side of the laneway, an older wizard glanced up, peering curiously at Draco. I saw Narciissa's eyes zero in on him, and suddenly was swept away in a wave of irrational panic. What did that man want? Why was he looking at Draco? Did he know – did he know about the mark? Why else would he be staring… he was _still_ staring. We should run, move quickly, move _away…_

"Is there anything else we have to buy, Aunt Narcissa?" I asked, sounding as polite as I could considering that I was convinced that the man sitting across from us was an auror about to arrest Draco.

Narcissa didn't answer at first. For the first time in the _entire_ time I'd known her, she looked wildly uncomfortable. Usually, her calm façade smoothed over any emotion, but now she looked almost _fidgety_, and she was still watching that man. That did it for me – that wizard was _definitely _an auror, and he was going to arrest Draco. No, to make Narcissa that upset it was more likely he was going to dispense with the arrest and just murder him in cold blood. And then Narcissa. And then me.

"Aunt Narcissa?" I repeated, struggling to sound calm and wondering why I was behaving in such a panicky manner. What was this – mob mentality? Narcissa must have noticed the look on my face, because suddenly she seemed to snap out of her strange mood.

She glanced once more at the man, who was now glancing at the shop door behind him, as though waiting for somebody else to come out. This time, her expression was not so much panicked as _considering_, but before I could ask her what she was thinking, she straightened her back and grasped Draco's arm firmly between her fingers.

"Mother!' Draco snapped, but it was clear he was more embarrassed than outraged.

"Draco needs new dressrobes." Narcissa said coolly, ignoring her son. The worried woman from moments before had disappeared – it was as though she'd just made a hard decision about something unsavoury. There was regret as well as resignation and concern in the lines of her face, and she was watching my expression carefully. "We shall head to Madame Malkins." She didn't give me any instructions or ask what I would do, just strode off, apparently oblivious to the livid expression on Draco's face.

"Cool." I said to the space where she'd been standing, completely shell-shocked. "Well, I suppose I'll wait here, then?" As I watched her walk away, ignoring me, I felt a little annoyed. "Right, so I'll go to Flourish and Blotts?" Narcissa was getting too far away to hear me, now, but even though just a month ago being left alone would have been a huge treat, now I was feeling incredibly rejected. "No? Alright, how about I go find a street corner and _sell_ myself?" I muttered angrily and turning away.

To my surprise, rather than meet with thin air, I crashed into a young woman who'd been standing close behind me.

"Oh, gosh! Sorry! I'm such a klutz." She let loose in a garbled stream, trying to steady me.

"It's fine." I answered quickly, feeling quite embarrassed – had she heard me resolve to go and prostitute myself? Of course she had, she'd been standing right behind me. "Really – I'm not hurt at all."

"Are you sure?" The woman asked earnestly. "I'm quite good at healing spells."

I looked at her properly for the first time. She was fairly average looking –I wouldn't ever have looked at her twice if she'd passed me by. Her hair was long and brown, falling quite limply around her heart shaped face, and her eyes were big and dark and full of earnestness. "I believe you." I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. "_Really_. But I'm fine."

With a polite smile, I attempted to move away, but she was still gripping my shoulders. "I don't think we've met." She said, and she almost sounded like she was rushing to force the words out. "I mean… well, I bumped into you, and we've spoken a _bit_ now, I guess. But we haven't _actually _met, if you know what I mean."

I blinked, confused. "That was a very accurate and perceptive analysis of the past minute." I drawled, unable to help myself. "Thanks so much for sharing that with me. I think I've come out of this experience a better person."

She didn't seem offended. In fact, she smiled almost fondly, and the expression made her face almost pretty. "You're… you're quite sarcastic."

My smile was strained. I didn't like the fact that this stranger was still grasping my shoulders. I didn't like that she kept looking at me as though she knew me. I didn't like that she smelled of soap or that her clothes were dowdy. And I _especially_ didn't like that the older wizard was still watching me, even though Draco had gone. I glanced over at him quickly. He was standing up now, and leaning forward as though incredibly interested in my conversation with the woman. He was wearing muggle clothes and had his hands jammed in his pockets, and now, standing by his side, was a tall, elegant woman with long dark hair. Catching sight of her face, I almost jumped –it was Bellatrix! Only, of course it wasn't, I realised, trying to focus. I was obviously losing it.

"So I'm told." I said absently, trying to pull away from the woman. "Look, I have to…"

"My name's Tonks." She told me quickly. She must have caught sight of the sceptical look on my face, because she gave me a half-hearted smile. "It's my surname, really. But my mum gave me a god-awful name and I try not to use it. We've actually met before, sort of."

"You and your mother or you and I?" I asked, keeping an eye on the older man and the Bellatrix doppelganger. They were still there, both watching me intently.

She laughed a little. "Both, really. You're Estelle, aren't you?" I didn't answer, but she beamed at me, and I could have sworn her eyes flashed a happy purple colour. "I'm… I'm a friend of Remus'. I was at the Ministry when…"

"Oh, no." I cut her off, yanking harshly away from her. "No, you're one of _those_." She frowned in confusion and I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I _really _don't want to talk about any of that, alright? Also, I don't care _how_ you knew my parents but I…"

"Nymphadora?" I glanced up. It was the Bellatrix doppelganger from across the street. She was standing a little closer now, one hand shielding her eyes as she stared at us. "Nymphadora." She repeated, and now, rather than a question, it was a summons.

I looked back at the woman. "Nymphadora?" I asked, and even to me my voice sounded just a little bit mocking.

She gave me a sad smile. "I told you. It's a pretty bad one." She paused. "Estelle's a nice name."

"Thanks." I said. It was fast becoming awkward between us. "Look, I think your friend wants to…."I gestured lamely at the older woman who'd been calling for her.

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, right. Of course. Sorry, Estelle." Finally she stepped back from me. I didn't correct her, even though I desperately wanted to. It just seemed rude, somehow. And then something seemed to occur to her. "Have you, uh, met my mother?" Now she was the one gesturing at the older Bellatrix look-alike.

That was a question _beyond_ stupid. "No." I said simply.

Nymphadora (Tonks? Whatever) grinned again, and I thought her hair seemed redder. "Right. Right, mum?" She called. "Mum, have you met…?"

"Look, I have to go." I said, cutting her off quite rudely. Nymphadora looked a little taken aback, and I felt guilty for just a moment. "Sorry, I just…."

"Let her go, Dora." The Bellatrix look alike said firmly. She was standing quite close now, and I felt like a fool for having gotten her confused with my psychotic cousin. Everything about her was so different to Bellatrix – her face was softer, her eyes kinder, her hair lighter. But most of all, her demeanour was so calm and so lovely that she made everything around her seem somehow lighter. "Hello." She said to me, before looking away perhaps too quickly to be polite.

"Hello." I said, nodding slightly. Suddenly it became quite obvious to me why Narcissa was always so reluctant to allow us to be by ourselves – the majority of people were clearly insane. "Listen, I think I might just…."

"I knew Sirius!" Tonks blurted out, before turning quite red. I said nothing, just watching her speculatively and wondering why some people found the basics of social graces so impossible to grasp.

Narcissa had not been clear on our position on this issue, but I was fairly sure that at this stage, I wasn't meant to confirm _or_ deny anything. Still, a second's glance at Tonks told me that she would not be impressed by any amount of evasion. While most people I associated with would be canny enough to understand that I wasn't going to answer them, Tonks seemed to be to be unusually tenacious. She wouldn't stop until I'd properly responded to her statement.

So, reluctantly, I smiled. "Did you? I didn't." I said, sticking with my natural role of petulant teenager. "I didn't know him at all." Tonks looked incredibly uncomfortable, and her mother glanced sharply away. Satisfied that I'd put an effective clamp on the flow of conversation, I gave the pair a bright grin. "Well, I have to leave. But it was _lovely_ to have met you…"

"Did Narciss- did your mother just leave you here?" it was Tonks' mother who spoke, although she was still looking at me only from the corner of her eyes, as though she could not meet my gaze. "That isn't the way things are usually done in the upper classes."

I blinked. "No, I-" there wasn't really an answer. It was true that Narcissa had breached custom by leaving me alone, but I didn't know why. Finally, I lifted my chin proudly, "She trusts me."

For the first time, perhaps drawn by my arrogance and self-certainty, Tonks' mother met my gaze. "Oh I doubt that." She said wryly, "you're far too much like…" And then she stopped speaking abruptly.

Annoyed that even _strangers_ seemed part of Narcissa's strange 'don't-speak-don't-tell' policy, I sneered sharply, and turned back to Tonks. "I'm off." I said shortly. I briefly considered ending with a generic 'it was nice to meet you', or some similar sort of vague pleasantry, but in the end, I decided against it, just gliding away as purposefully as I could. I didn't turn around or even glance over my shoulder when I heard Tonks shout something indistinct at me – I told myself I really didn't care. But the truth was that I did care – just perhaps not quite enough to look desperate. It didn't matter, anyway. The most pressing issue was just how I would fill up the time before I met up with Narcissa and Draco. Narcissa had been terribly vague – should I give them an hour? Two hours? Was I meant to rush straight there? But in the end, I decided to take my time. It had been far too long since I'd been given such a long leash, and I intended to use it.

The Silver Chalice wasn't too far from Flourish and Blotts, and besides, I found the idea of shopping for books much more appealing than the idea of shopping for potion supplies, so I headed there, first.

Walking through Diagon Alley was disconcerting. I didn't like the edge on the air – that vague hint of panic which every single shopper seemed to exude. It was such a far cry from the place I was used to that I almost would have preferred to go home. But I didn't. Instead, incredibly aware of the surprised looks some of the more upper-class families were throwing me, I persevered, heading straight for the shelter of Flourish and Blotts while pulling off that classic Malfoy habit of keeping my chin lifted but not meeting a single person's gaze.

In the book shop, it was easier to pretend that this was just a normal day in The Alley. In Flourish and Blotts, the main concern is and always would be _books_. There weren't any creepy posters, there weren't any dodgy looking stalls. People were moving around sort of frantically, but only in the way all people did when shopping for school supplies. There was just something about the warm, golden feel of the place which seemed to make people calm down. Heartily satisfied by the change in the atmosphere, I made a beeline for a stack of books by the window, frowning as I caught sight of a stack of Ministry Authorised pamphlets on the shop counter. It truly was everywhere, and permeating into everything – this fear. I flipped through the books piled up on the window sill and spilling indiscriminately onto the floor for a few minutes before I was interrupted.

"Look who it is."

Instinctively, upon hearing that vicious drawl, I glanced over my shoulder to check which unsavoury person had walked into the shop. But there was nobody there, besides a relatively inoffensive looking middle-aged witch carrying a hatbox. Surely she hadn't warranted quite that much loathing?

I turned around to see Marcus Flint looking at me with murder in his eyes. I paused. "Oh, _me_." I realised out loud, then shot him an easy grin. "Hey, Flint."

He did not appear overly happy to see me. "I'm surprised you'd show your face in here."

I glanced around myself, confused. "In a book shop?"

"In Diagon Alley." He growled at me. "Heard you got everybody's parents arrested."

I froze. How did he know? Draco and Narcissa had put so much effort into damage control – the inquisitorial squad knew, that was true, and so they might have told their parents, but that was all! My mind whirled with speculation, but I couldn't afford to be silent for too long. That would make me look guilty. Instead, I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that was me." I drawled. "The paper's got it all wrong – they mixed me up with Potter, but hey, we do look sort of similar."

His mouth twisted into a sneer. "I heard you were there. I heard you came in late and _helped_ Potter catch everybody's dads."

Shit. I raised an eyebrow. "Oh." I said sarcastically. "Oh, I see. The paper's got me mixed up with _Dumbledore_, then? I suppose there are similarities – the beard, for one. We both have such lovely beards."

Flint stepped up close to me, grabbing my wrist tightly, and for the first time I felt a little afraid. "Cut the crap, Dahlquist." He snapped, but rather than furious, he looked confused. "Why?" He asked almost plaintively. "Why did you do it?"

I met his gaze calmly. _I was never there. I don't know what you mean. I had dragon pox. _"Do _what_, Flint? You _know_ I was sick that whole weekend!"

"I talked to Daph." He said finally. "She- she couldn't understand why you'd done it. And I…"

He'd talked to Greengrass? Typical. Theirs was a family of gossips, make no mistake. And yet she'd been quite civil to me at the Zabini Ball. How quickly we turn against each other when we're deprived of foreigners to hate. It was time to bring out the big guns. "How can you accuse me of this, Flint?" I demanded angrily. "You don't think _I_ lost somebody? You don't think _I _miss Lucius? Why would I help Potter lock up the only father I've ever known?"

_Yeah_, a voice drawled within me, _why __did__ you do that?_

I don't know what would have happened then, if we hadn't been interrupted. But we were. "Flint." A voice said coolly from behind me. "Well. Hello."

I didn't really feel the need to glance over my shoulder – I knew who'd come to the rescue.

Flint scowled. "Zabini." He half spat. "This doesn't concern you – your mother hasn't married any death eaters lately."

I could practically _feel_ Blaise get angry. The air around us prickled with that icy rage that only he could pollute a room with. "Let go of Estelle, Flint." He drawled. "Only an utter twit would believe the gossip that the _common_ folk have been spreading."

I smiled tightly. Brilliant – Flint's mother was a little lower down the social ladder than he cared to be reminded. The second somebody suggested _anything_ was low class, he ran as far away from it as he could. "I didn't _believe _it." He blustered, his eyebrows drawing together in a fierce frown. "But why else would Mrs Malfoy just let her wander about by herself like some sort of…"

"Careful." Blaise warned halfheartedly. "Don't say anything Estelle might make you regret."

Flint flushed. That was the trouble – he wasn't unintelligent, or unattractive, and he did have a certain style, but he was completely outclassed by Blaise and he knew it. That sort of thing can be a blow to a guy's ego. "It's just that… Daph said…."

"Daph says tonnes of stuff – we all try not to listen." Blaise drawled boredly. "Go on, let go of Estelle. People are staring."

Not meeting my gaze, Flint released his tight hold on my wrist. Ever one to smooth thing over (when it suited me, at least), I shot him a cheerful smile. "Now that _that_ little misunderstanding is cleared up…" But the look Flint gave me wasn't apologetic at all, or even a little embarrassed. Instead, when his eyes briefly met mine I was treated to a wave of distrust and loathing so strong that I almost flinched. Keeping my cool, I brightened my smile a little and then ducked around him to smile up at Blaise. "Hello." I said, looking up into his dark, endlessly inscrutable eyes.

He didn't answer, just letting his eyes dart over my face briefly before he turned back to Flint. "Don't spread that sort of muck around." He said coolly. "That's Gryffindor gossip – we don't have time for it, not now." Flint didn't reply, instead shoving quickly past him and darting outside.

I supposed that perhaps _now_ Blaise would greet me.

Then again, I should probably have known by that stage that expecting things of Blaise was never a fruitful exercise. "How is it possible for one person to attract quite this much trouble?" He asked, seething. "Really. I don't understand. Whenever there is _any_ sort of disturbance, who's in the middle? Oh, it's _Estelle_."

My answering shrug was lazy. "Trouble gravitates towards me." I said nonchalantly. "How can I fight against what is clearly my destiny?"

"And where _is_ Draco? And Mrs Malfoy?" He demanded, still not looking at me, and keeping his hands resolutely by his side. It was almost as though he was pretending we weren't standing together, as though he was _embarrassed_ by my presence. The thought enraged me. "They should know not to leave you alone – you always _break_ things."

"That was weird, actually." I admitted, ignoring the nonsensical end to his sentence. "Narcissa sort of… bolted. She took Draco and left me completely alone."

Now Blaise looked at me, frowning consideringly. It was only from that that I could tell that he disapproved of Narcissa's actions. "I can't quite blame her for wanting to escape," he said thoughtfully. "Merlin knows how trying it must be to have to deal with you all day. But I do feel that she should have taken you with her."

Bored of being chastised, and confused by the odd fluttering feeling in my stomach (that was new – was it because of Blaise, or was I just reacting badly to that cake I'd eaten for breakfast. Draco _had_ warned me…) I glanced away from him, gazing aimlessly out of the window I'd been standing next to for the past ten minutes. It must have been fate, because if Flint hadn't cornered me, I would still have been browsing, and if Blaise hadn't freed me, I still would have been fighting with Flint, and if Blaise wasn't being so dull at that very moment, I would never have looked out the window to see a procession of redheads making their way resolutely into the shop.

Through the mottled stained glass of the windows, I could sort of make out just which Weasleys were approaching. From the height of the male, it had to be either Harry's pet Weasley, or Mr Weasley, or even one of the twins… I hoped not. And that unmistakeable flouncing walk…. Hello, Weaslette. The third, though stamped as a Weasley through her fiery hair, was not one I could remember seeing before. She was dumpy in a pleasant sort of way, and looked like the sort of person who baked compulsively. I imagined her wearing an apron and plumping up pillows, while directing a pair of knitting needles levitating somewhere near her head. The image fit; Mama Weasley. And if the Weasleys were here, then Harry couldn't be too far behind.

I had to get out. By my side, Blaise was still prattling on in his own detached way, completely oblivious to my discomfort, probably because he was practically ignoring me. "Can we go?" I hissed at him. "Let's go _now_."

Blaise frowned, and I could tell he was about to ask why exactly I was so keen to leave until he too caught sight of the Wealsey troop advancing. Without a single complaint – besides the inevitable eye-roll – he allowed me to lead him out of the shop. The bell on the door tinkled merrily as we darted outside, and somehow Blaise managed to walk almost on an angle in front of me, shielding me completely from any prying Weasley eyes. I wanted to thank him, but he didn't meet my gaze which made me wonder whether he'd even done it on purpose. In fact, he didn't look at me once until we were well clear of the shop, and even then, it was only a brief, cursory glance as though to check that I was all in one piece.

"How's Draco?" He asked, still acting as though he was embarrassed to be seen with me, even as we rounded the corner and left Flourish and Blotts behind.

I scowled. "I'm well, thank you. How kind of you to ask." Blaise merely waited expectantly. After glaring at him for a while, I sighed defeatedly and shrugged. "Not well." I paused. "You know, I think something happened on Wednesday."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, looking practically regal against the bright purple of the Ministry posters which plastered the walls. "Something?"

I nodded. "Something bad." I wondered how much I could tell Blaise. For some reason, opening up to him felt quite natural much of the time, but this wasn't about unburdening myself. It was about Draco's best interests, and I didn't know if telling Blaise served that purpose. I resolved to be honest but ambiguous. "Remember he said he was busy?" Blaise nodded in assent and I looked away, suddenly pensive. "Well, I haven't seen him once since then. He didn't come out of his room until this morning. Narcissa's been gone all week, either hiding, or…." I wondered whether I should tell him. "She disappeared yesterday. Just… left."

"Where did she go?" Blaise asked plainly.

I buried my hands in my pockets. "I'm not sure." I told him, making sure my voice sounded thoughtful and curious. "But she didn't come back til late. She's been very upset these past few days." I cracked a weak smile. "Hasn't even been sticking her pinky out when she drinks her tea."

Blaise's answering smile wasn't particularly wholehearted. "Well that _is_ a sign of inner torment."

"I thought so." I said with a nod, and then sighed. "I'm worried, Blaise." He was silent. "All of this… it worries me." Around us, Diagon Alley seemed cramped and frightened. The usual bustling atmosphere was replaced by a feel of haste, as though people wanted to do nothing more than finish their shopping then get the hell out.

Blaise scanned the scene with detached eyes. "Don't bother, Estelle." He sighed. I glanced up at him, intrigued by his certainty. After a moment, he looked down, meeting my gaze. "The people who need to worry," he explained after a brief pause. "are the mudbloods."

At his undeniably true words, I glanced around the street, watching the people push and shove at each other in an effort to finish their jobs and escape the uncertainty of the street. How many of them were at risk? I thought you could almost tell which ones – they had the manic glint in their eyes, they had the broad smiles plastered on their faces in an effort to reassure their children. Poor, desperate and condemned. I pitied them.

"The death eaters wouldn't bother us." Blaise continued, stepping close to me to avoid a particularly frantic shopper. "We're exactly what they want for our society – young, healthy, bright and _purebred_."

"Ministry can't hurt us either, _theoretically_." I murmured. "We're minors and therefore innocent of whatever our parents are involved in. Worse comes to worst, we'd be wards of the state." Blaise nodded curtly, and even though I desperately wanted to point out all the flaws with his little hypothesis (hadn't the ministry proved that they didn't care? Didn't the death eaters carry a particular grudge against blood traitors, and could we not be construed as blood traitors for refusing to participate?) I stayed quiet. "So you're saying that we're safe?" I asked sceptically.

He nodded. "As houses."

I sniffed, tossing my hair. "I wouldn't let your guard down." I told him petulantly. "Didn't you hear about that muggle town they set the giants on? Houses aren't exactly the safest places any more." As if to agree with me, the giant poster showing Bellatrix's manic face laughed crazily as we passed in front of us. I shivered – even a photograph showed the chilling insanity in her eyes.

Blaise looked completely unimpressed. "Fine. Safe as mansions."

My eyes glazed over as I remembered the raging fire that had destroyed our orchard earlier in the holidays. "Yeah. That's reassuring." And then, recognising the morbid turn our conversation had taken, I turned to Blaise and put on my sweetest smile. "Let's head to Madame Malkins."

His gaze remained guarded. "Let's not."

I crossed my arms. "Well _I'm_ going." I told him, continuing to walk. "That's where Draco and Aunt Narcissa are." Blaise said nothing and I sighed, annoyed. "You did _say_ you wanted to meet up with Draco." I pointed out.

"We can wait here." He told me. "_They_ can come to _us_."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're just being difficult." I told him.

He turned to me, oddly irritated. "And _you're_ just trying to annoy me. That's why you want to go to a robes shop – you wouldn't, otherwise."

"No, it's because I _need_ a new dress." I said angrily, trying to shake the feeling that Bellatrix's photographic eyes were still watching me, still waiting, looking for any indication of my parentage in my bearing. "Aunt Narcissa wouldn't talk to me for a week after the stunt I pulled at your party- she said I was disgracing everybody."

"What, _everybody_? Absolutely everybody?" Blaise drawled. "That is surely a gross exaggeration."

I laughed, angling myself so that the laughing picture of Bellatrix was out of my line of sight. "But she _has_ been better lately." I told him. "She- well, she's been better."

"I'm glad." He said, sounding anything but. "Is that why she's decided to let you wander about the streets with absolutely _nobody_ watching you."

I scowled at him. "I don't need watching." I reminded him, and he scoffed.

"Oh, please. There's not a single Slytherin who needs watching more. You're absolutely the most troublesome individual I know, and the public is aware of that." He glanced at me. "People will say Narcissa is letting you run wild because she is struggling to keep things together with Lucius gone."

I winced. "Harsh." I told him, but he just shrugged. It was, after all, true. People _would_ think that Narcissa wasn't coping. "I suppose we should go meet her then." I said with a sigh.

Blaise made a vague noise of assent before realising what I was suggesting. "What?" He snapped, and then shook his head. "No. No, Estelle, we are not going to…"

"Oh, look!" I cooed, grinning deviously at him. "We're _here_."

While he'd been distracted by our conversation, I'd lead us right to the shop. Blaise said nothing, and, smiling at him, I pushed the door of Madame Malkins open, only to hear my lovely Aunt say. "I expect Potter shall be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius." Blaise's eyes flew straight to mine, but I ignored him.

I suppose I could reasonably have gotten away with having a tantrum there and then, but instead, I reached out and quite deliberately pushed over a vase of flowers. "Oh." I said charmingly. "Oh, _dear_. How clumsy of me."

Narcissa looked up, her eyes meeting mine, and I thought I saw something like regret in them. But then Madame Malkins was there, bustling around with her wand. "Quite alright." She said, clearly grateful that somebody had diffused the tension. She was one of those witches who just cannot cope with loud noises and raised voices – it offended her delicate sensibilities. She was just the sort of person who they'd invented smelling salts for back in the Victorian era. "Just fine."

"No, _really_." I said softly. "It's just awful- how thoughtless people can be." My eyes travelled slowly up to Narcissa, and then, to my shock, I saw that Harry, King Weasley and Bushy Hair were all standing in the shop, gaping at me.

Harry took one look at my face, one hopeful, longing look, and then his jaw tightened, and he raised his wand higher, aimed at my aunt.

"Harry, _no_." Bushy hair wailed. "Think… you mustn't… you'll be in such trouble…" She babbled senselessly. I watched the scene with impassive eyes, willing Harry to not even _glance_ in my direction – I'd claw his eyes out. Weasley hadn't said a single word. Instead, he was just glaring at Draco as though he were Voldemort himself.

Really, I shouldn't have been looking at them at all. I ought to have taken Blaise by the arm and walked out, possibly after snogging him senseless in full view of Harry Potter. But, no, instead I chose to _stare_ at them. Eye contact was inevitable.

And yet, when Harry's beautiful eyes latched onto mine, full of hope and longing, I was still surprised. It was as though nothing else was happening at all, as though it were just the two of us again, sitting by the lake or on the wall pretending that we weren't meant to hate each other. Pretending that we were friends.

While all the while he'd been laughing at me behind my back. He'd been talking to _my_ father – the one I'd only ever know through the pages of his letter. My jaw clenched a little, and Harry must have seen that I was getting angrier again, because he moved towards me, an involuntary little jerk in my direction.

Blaise, noticing this, stiffened visibly, his hand twitching near the pocket where his wand was kept. Weasley, seeing _this_, turned an unfortunately vivid shade of crimson, and made to grab his own wand.

I don't know how it would have ended, or what Harry might have said, but at that minute, Madame Malkin who had been bumbling around trying to fix Draco's sleeve, must have stuck him with a pin or something because he let out a pained yelp. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman!" He snarled angrily, and in a second Harry and I had broken eye contact and the whole situation had been diffused… if only to make way for a new crisis.

Because Draco had complained at just the wrong moment. He'd pulled his arm away from Madame Malkin so quickly you'd think she'd maimed him, but any idiot could see that she wasn't even holding the pin he'd claimed she'd stuck him with. And the arm he was cradling was his _left_ arm.

Again, that uncomfortable, tight feeling rose up inside of me as I considered just what that might mean, and again I pushed it away.

I might even have forgotten all about it if I hadn't seen the slightly thoughtful look in Harry's eyes as they rested on Draco's arm. _That_ was when I realised just how much trouble we were in.

_He suspects_…

I'm no Gryffindor – the second I realised that some hard questions were about to be asked, I ran, almost sprinting in my eagerness to leave the shop. Of course, to do _that_ I had to pass by Harry, and with the reflexes of a Quidditch player, he'd grabbed my arm as I passed him. "Estelle…" He began, his voice earnest and pained.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped at him, pushing past Weasley and Bushy-Hair to get outside.

Poor Madame Malkin. After all this drama, she probably _would_ need some smelling salts.

I stood there for a moment, processing the past five minutes. I had, of course, made a fool out of myself by reacting so viciously to absolutely everything. I wanted to groan and rest my head against the wall, but I was already conscious of how ridiculous I'd made myself look. Why oh _why_ was I so completely unable to be dignified? _Especially_ whenever Harry was around.

I didn't hear the footsteps behind me, but I could feel that Blaise was standing there, watching me. Probably he was smirking.

"Are you- are you _alright_?"

"Alright?" I snapped, whirling around to face him. "Of _course_ I'm alright. What else would I be? I'm _fine_. Just _fine_."

"Yes, of _course_ you are." Blasie drawled. "You don't seem at all mentally unstable." I dug my nails into the palms of my hands until I could see they were imprinted with bloody crescents. Beside me, Blaise's demeanour turned icy. "It… _irritates_ me, you know." He said nonchalantly. I glanced up at him, and met his cold gaze. "How easily Potter affects you."

I scowled fiercely. "He doesn't." I said. Well, I _lied_. "I'm upset because of what Narcissa said."

He looked at me, and in that instant I knew that he knew I was lying through my teeth, but instead of pursuing it, he simply sighed and said, "let's get your potion supplies." As though _that_ was ever going to be an attractive prospect. I was about to point this out to him when we were interrupted.

"Estelle?" A voice asked, and then it took on a darker tone and uttered, "Zabini."

I whirled around to face my cousin. "Hey, Drake." I said, smiling coolly. This would be the first time, I realised, that he'd ever come across Blaise and I together since our little arrangement had begun, discounting that awkward conversation in the fire. And _that_ meant that this was a disaster waiting to happen.

Only, that line of thinking wasn't particularly helpful, so with a heavy heart, I changed my tune. This was just another day, this was just another day, I repeated to myself like a personal mantra. Absolutely _no_ reason for any emotion other than cheerfulness. There was nothing suspicious about the situation at _all_. I was just… hanging around with one of Draco's older friends, who happened to have a reputation as a serial womaniser. "Look, I found Blaise wandering around Flourish and Blotts."

To anybody else, that would have appeared very natural and not at all forced. But Draco wasn't just anybody else. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes moved away from me, fixing on Blaise. "Hello, Blaise." He said carefully. _Thoughtfully_.

Shit. Shit shit _shit_.

"Well _that_ was uncomfortable back there." I said, my voice falsely warm as it broke through the silence. "Those Gryffindors – _so_ incapable of tact and etiquette." I smiled brightly at the boys._ "_Draco seems to have given Aunt Narcissa the slip as well, so what's on the agenda for the rest of the day?"

Blaise shrugged, leaning against a wall. "Nothing. Or perhaps… He shot Draco a look. "Did you want to do what we normally do?" He asked. "Head over to the apothecary and complain loudly about how unfair it is that they make the first years _swim_ across the lake?"

I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. "We've done it since second year." Blaise explained. "We find a group of soon-to-be first years, and then we make up stories about Hogwarts. Like…" He considered, then stood a little straighter and sneered. "I can't wait to see who the human sacrifice is this year. Personally, I don't hold with all of that 'worshipping the sun god' nonsense, but that's the tradition'." Then he relaxed again, his sneer evaporating into thin air. "It's quite good fun. But it _is_ a tradition which is Draco's and mine… alone."

Wow. He was actually un-inviting me from something which _I_ had invited him to. And _this_ was the boy I was involved with – what a catch. I refrained myself from elbowing Blaise in the ribs, instead letting loose a charming laugh and shaking my head as though he'd made a particularly funny joke. "Oh, _Zabini_." I trilled. "How funny that you think I'd let you just wander off without me."

"Optimism isn't something to laugh at, Estelle." Blaise said coolly. "It's a quality too few people possess in this cynical world."

"And without people like _you_, the world wouldn't need to be cynical at all." I said sweetly. "So I suppose it all comes full circle, doesn't it?"

During this little exchange, Draco had been worryingly quiet, not saying a word as Blaise and I enthusiastically tore strips out of each other. But now that there was a break in the flow of conversation, he stepped in. Sensing something momentous was about to happen, both Blaise and I froze like rabbits in the headlights. "So." Draco said finally, his eyes alight with knowledge. "You two."

There was a moment's peaceful silence before Blaise and I sprung into action. It would have made a lot of sense for us to deny it, but then, we always did prefer to argue rather than be practical.

Blaise shot me an accusatory glare. "What?" I asked defensively. "I didn't tell him anything. And it's not like we've been holding hands. Why would this be my fault?"

"It might have something to do with the fact that you _live with him_." Blaise said disdainfully. "I haven't seen him in weeks. It's clearly you."

Draco sighed. "You're both fools." He snapped at us, and Blaise and I stopped bickering and began looking sheepish, like children being told off. Satisfied that we had stopped, Draco nodded curtly, then turned his gaze on me. "You know you're an idiot for getting into this." He said. It wasn't a question.

I shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. "I know." I admitted.

"Your reputation will be dragged through the dirt. And he won't marry you, so it'll all be for nothing." He turned next to Blaise. "So are you. You are being especially stupid."

Blaise looked a little disgruntled. "Look, Malfoy…"

"No." Draco snapped, cutting him off. "No, you _know_ what I mean, Blaise. I won't bother saying it out loud, but you know what I mean."

Blaise met his gaze squarely. "Are you going to punch me? Threaten me with all sorts of creative torture if I hurt her?"

Draco shrugged. "It takes a lot to hurt Estelle." He told Blaise. "And if you do, I'm sure she will want to take care of it herself." He sighed, looking away from us. "I'm going." He said distractedly. "I have things to do."

Blaise and I exchanged glances. "So….?" I began, looking away from Blaise. "So… what do we do?" Draco raised an eyebrow at me. Annoyed, I spat out, "Well he's _your_ friend! I wouldn't know what to do with him!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Estelle, I think you're aware of how ridiculous that sentence is considering our conversation just a few minutes ago." I waited, confused, and Draco sighed irritably. "He's _your_ fuck buddy. _You_ figure out what to do."

Now both Blaise and I were struck dumb, not only by his crudeness, but by the implications of his sentence. Hesitantly, I asked. "Are you suggesting…?"

Draco almost choked on his own tongue. "What? _No_! Estelle…."

I frowned. "Well you said 'fuck buddy'. I assumed…."

"Don't- don't _assume_ things any more." Draco said, looking seriously disgusted. "As though I needed those mental images." He turned to Blaise. "Meet us back here in a few hours. Mother will want to know where we are, Estelle can pretend she met up with Jess."

"Where are you going?" I asked, just as Blaise frowned and said, "Draco, I believe you've misunderstood the situation…"

Draco ignored me completely, turning to Blaise. "No, I _haven't_." He said tersely. "I am aware that you're going to be _using_ my cousin to… to satisfy your needs, and that both of you are deluded enough to think that this will end well. It won't." I made to protest, but he cut me off. "I am _also_ aware that you're keeping this quiet, and that it _isn't_ a relationship." This was said with a fair deal of scepticism. "Which is why I'm not suggesting you treat this as a date, I am _requesting_ that my best friend makes sure that my troublemaking little cousin doesn't end up ruining the Malfoy name anymore while I'm not around to prevent it." We were both quiet, and Draco looked from one of us to the other. "You understand? No funny business. No…. snogging. Today, Blaise, I am asking you to _babysit_ my cousin. Whom you happen to be screwing around with."

…..

"This really puts a dampener on our 'no dating' rule." I told Blaise with a sigh, running a hand through my hair as I watched Draco speed off in what he no doubt thought was a covert sort of manner.

Blaise glanced at me, suddenly annoyed by my presence now that I was a favour he was doing for Draco. "How so?"

I raised an eyebrow. "really? Are you stupid? We're two people who often hook up, and we're spending the day together in Diagon Alley. Are you hungry?"

Apparently unperturbed by this rapid change in conversation, Blaise considered. "Perhaps."

I seized on this. "So we'll probably be getting food at some point." Succumbing to the melancholy that was quickly rising within me, I gave a glum sigh. "Now we're people who hook up, spending the day together and getting food. It's a date."

He shook his head. "It's all in our interpretation. And I choose to follow Draco's interpretation of this as 'babysitting'."

My mouth twisted downwards in distaste. "I choose not to. It's patronising."

Blaise was unconcerned. He shrugged. "Your choice. Now, have you gotten all of your books?"

I rolled my eyes. "You were with me in Flourish and Blotts – you _know_ I have my books."

He reached out, plucking my shopping list from my back pocket. "Right. Well, I didn't see you pick up your potions textbook." He gave me a severe look. "Wishful thinking won't stop you from having to do potions. If you don't buy the book, you'll just get Snape angrier."

I frowned, folding my arms defiantly. "Well I don't _want_ to go back to Flourish and Blotts." I snapped. "I don't like it in there – the assistant hates me!"

"You should really be used to that by now – it isn't really an uncommon feeling." Blaise observed, and I sniffed, looking away from him. "Oh, you're not talking anymore?" I didn't answer and he sighed. "You really ought to reconsider that as a punishment – I prefer it when you're silent."

I don't know what it is about Blaise, but I always seem to want to punch him, whenever we're together for extended periods of time.

An hour later, we'd picked up my potions book, had a quick conversation with one of Blaise's mother's new suitors, bought me a new cauldron and stopped off at the sweet shop. We'd even stopped into a dingy little café for lunch (avoiding the purebloods who might draw conclusions about our relationship should they see us unchaperoned). _That_ had been a disaster. I'd run out of money and Blaise refused to buy me anything at all on the pretext that as this _wasn't_ a date, he _shouldn't_ buy me lunch. Naturally, his choice of café meant that the Malfoy name couldn't even get me some sort of tab, and I'd gone hungry while he'd eaten not one, but _two_ pumpkin pasties, grinning gleefully the whole time. Neither of us could think of anything that we had yet to do, and yet the time to meet Draco hadn't arrived. We were, therefore, wandering aimlessly around The Alley, attempting to have a civil conversation.

It wasn't working particularly well.

"I really don't see the point of these everlasting gobstoppers." I told Blaise, annoyed as I tried for the millionth time to shrink the lolly I'd bought earlier. "There's no sense of achievement if it doesn't get any smaller. It's like failing. Failing at eating lollies. And that is just so _sad_."

He ignored me. We'd now done two full circuits of The Alley and our boredom was peaking. Along with our impatience.

"You're terrible company." I told him viciously. "I wish Draco hadn't stuck me with you." It came out a little garbled, seeing as I was shaping the words around the biggest gobstopper in the universe, but Blaise got my message.

"Oh, I am hurt." He drawled. "Because _you_, my dear, are so delightful to be around." I didn't answer and he sighed. "You're still upset about lunch."

"I told you to get me a pasty!" I snapped at him.

"You said you _wanted_ a pasty." Blaise corrected boredly. We'd already had this argument. Twice.

My eyes narrowed. "That's the same thing, Blaise. You knew what I meant."

He shook his head. " For the hundredth time… It isn't the same thing. I want the new firebolt. Are you going to buy it for me now?"

I despised him. "I didn't have any money left." I pointed out, dodging around a particularly frantic looking witch. "The polite thing to do would have been to…."

"You shouldn't have bought those ugly shoes."

"Excuse me?" I asked, folding my arms. Blaise repeated himself, and I wrapped an arm protectively around the cowboy boots I'd bought. "So that was a lesson in fiscal responsibility?"

"No." He ran a hand through his hair and a nearby third year almost fainted. "People _plan_ lessons because they want the people they care about to understand things. I don't care about you, or whether or not you understand. That wasn't anything." He paused, considering that. "That was me eating lunch."

I didn't have an answer to that, and to be fair, I hadn't had an answer to it the first two times he'd pointed it out. So, just as I had previously, I expressed my displeasure by tossing my hair and striding elegantly away from him without a care in the world. We were just outside Flourish and Blotts (again) and I thought perhaps four new stalls had sprung up since then, all full of the worst looking people, selling the dodgiest looking wares. My nose wrinkled in distaste as I strolled past a tiny old crone hunched over several jars of what looked like human eyes. A little further along a young man with an acne scarred face was swinging heavy amulets around, proclaiming them to be the 'best possible protection against all manners of dark creatures'.

I felt Blaise catch up with me, though he didn't speak. "I think that might actually be true." I said, nodding at the young man in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the situation. "I mean, look at the size of those things. It'd give most beasties a foul bump on the head."

Blaise snorted inelegantly, and, almost despite himself, draped an arm over my shoulder. It all felt quite natural, in that moment. I never felt more at ease than when Blaise and I were being cruel to each other or to somebody else, and his physical closeness seemed so normal, so expected and so _natural_ at that point in time that I didn't really bother questioning it. In retrospect, I should have. Never mind that _I_ felt comfortable, I should have at least wondered why Blaise, the quintessential playboy, felt so natural in that moment. But as usual, I was selfish and self-absorbed and thought of nothing beyond the fact that _I_ liked it and _I_ didn't want it to stop.

Lost in that particular thought, I glanced up at Blaise, examining from underneath my lashes. His face looked as it always looked – handsome and hard enough to have been cut from stone. But there was never any point in looking at Blaise's face to gauge his moods. Personally, I don't believe his facial expression had changed once in all the time that I'd known him. His eyes did, thought. Sometimes, through that inky blackness, you could see hints of emotion. And now? Now they looked not quite, but almost, happy.

"Get your trinkets- nice and cheap! Trinkets! Heirlooms! Pretty, shiny…" I turned away from Blaise, my gaze catching on a small, dingy looking stall in front of Flourish and Blotts. I was quite sure that it hadn't been there just two hours ago, when Blaise and I had rushed out, and yet I couldn't be sure why I would know that. It didn't stand out from the fifty other up and down Diagon Alley, except for the fact that it was by far the scummiest. The white cloth the 'merchant' had draped over his upside-down cart was yellow with filth, but the items themselves _were_ in fact pretty and shiny. I moved over to him.

He was a squat, unappealing man with straggly strands of pale ginger hair falling limply from beneath the most disgustingly moth-eaten top hat I had ever seen in my life. In fact, most of him seemed moth-eaten. His faded brown suit jacket, and the hideous checkerboard robes he wore beneath it. Even his mustard yellow cravat was fraying at the edges and patched up. I couldn't wait to see Blaise's reaction to him.

"'Ello, luv." The man leered good-naturedly, and I noticed with a detached sort of distaste that he didn't seem to have shaved in days. "Honestly didn't think your sort would frequent my fine establishment." He gestured vaguely at the mess that surrounded him.

I beamed. "What can I say?" I began sweetly. "I would never have been able to resist your promise of 'pretty' 'shiny' things. I am, after all, part magpie." The man looked confused, more than anything, but Blasie's attempt to glance quickly away was too slow to hide the smile on his face. Ignoring the pair of them, I cast my eyes over the table, wondering why I'd stopped right here.

The man wasn't complaining, though. He grinned broadly at us, flashing his gold tooth, and stuck out a large, warm hand. "Mundungus." He said with a nod.

Blaise sniffed. "Charmed." He said sarcastically, neither taking Mundungus' hand or offering his own name. Instead, he turned to me, and apparently on the same wavelength as I'd been just moments before, he gave me an exasperated sigh. "Little wonder that neither Draco nor his mother wanted you with them if _this_ is how you behave." He said scathingly. "What are we doing here? You can't seriously want to buy this trash?"

The man running the stall didn't look offended by Blaise's words. In fact, he gave an understanding sort of shrug, as if to say 'he has a point'. That annoyed me. Did _everybody_ side against me? Was that how this worked? Instantly, I became determined to find _something_ to buy. My eyes passed over several bits of tableware, lingered for a moment on some elegant silver necklaces, and fell eventually on an old, worn jacket lying folded on the table

"I like this." I said, fingering the material. "Dragon leather, is it?"

Mundungus nodded proudly, tipping his ancient top hat to us. "The finest."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, and Blaise fingered the leather. "As if you'd have any idea." He said scathingly, but I could tell that it _was_ actually good quality from the way his eyes widened slightly as he tugged at the leather.

"I _do_ like it." I told him with a winning smile, and he looked annoyed.

"Of course you do." He said simply. "It's hideous- no style."

I frowned. "_Vintage_." I squinted at the label, where somebody had scrawled two initials in fiery magic. ""What is that?" I asked, frowning. "What does that say- 58? 5B?" I peered closer. "Does that look more like a '5' or an 'S' to you?"

Blaise shrugged, unconcerned. "This is why boys don't spend time with girls." He said to Mundungus, who looked shocked at having been acknowledged. "We don't like shopping. Did you _hear_ that, Estelle? This is _boring_."

I ignored him, turning away from Mundungus, still holding the jacket. "You should buy it for me."

"What? Why?"

I pouted. "You refused to buy me lunch."

"Because this isn't a _date_." He said exasperatedly. "I'm babysitting. So I don't have to spend money on you." He threw the jacket on the table in disgust. "Buying you this horrid, second-hand piece of muggle filth would sort of go against that understanding…"

"Well _I_ sure didn't sign any binding legal documents." I said drily, picking it back up. "So I think we can safely say that the understanding can _change_."

Blaise frowned. "I don't want it to." He said stubbornly.

I threw my hands in the air. "Honestly, you're so _stingy_ for a rich boy." Mundungus' eyes lit up as I said the word 'rich'. "It's a little embarrassing."

"You're rich, too." Blaise snapped at me, and Mundungus began to drool. "And feminism is all the rage, lately. Buy your own ugly jacket." I shook my head sternly, folding my arms protectively around the jacket. "You know." Blaise said, to nobody, "I think that in a perfect society, men and women would live _separately_."

"Stop being a baby." I snapped, pulling the supple leather jacket over my arms. Age had made it soft and smooth- it was quite big, falling over my hands til just my fingertips could be seen, but very comfortable.

"They would only ever come together for orgies, once a week." Blaise continued. "And the rest of the time, the men would talk about quidditch and the women could shop and… I don't know, brush each other's hair or whatever you do."

I ignored him- he wasn't saying anything particularly interesting. "How much?" I asked Mundungus definitively, prodding at the jacket.

He grinned. "For you, love? Eight galleons."

My smile was a perfect blend of sweet and predatory. "Now I know that's a joke." I told him smoothly. Unintimidated, he shook his head staunchly. With a sigh, I turned to Blaise. "Fix that, would you, darling?"

He glowered at me. "Fix what?"

I rolled my eyes. "Honestly- _so_ dense. Fix the price." He still looked at a loss. "Beat him down… not _literally_." Blaise, who'd been moving towards Mundungus, froze mid-step. "Oh, I _know_ you know what I'm telling you. Go on." I said with a sniff. "I want a display of good old-fashioned machismo- haggle for me."

Blaise's approach to haggling was a little unconventional. Without saying a word, he levelled Mundungus with a haughty stare. A little perturbed, Mundungus gulped but remained firm. "Seven galleons." He said. "No less."

"What sort of fool are you?" Blaise asked curiously as Mundungus squirmed under his gaze. Then abruptly, he sighed, turning away. "Come on, Estelle. This imbecile bores me."

I frowned, ignoring Blaise's clear haggling manoeuvre. "I'm not going anywhere, Blaise." I said darkly. "Not until I get the jacket."

Blaise leaned in close, looking like he wanted to throttle me. "It was a _bluff_, Estelle- a tactic."

"Find another one." I said stubbornly.

He rolled his eyes. "I could say the same to you." He pointed out. "About this awful jacket."

"I'm not changing the price." Mundugus contributed helpfully. Blaise shot him a glare, but Mundungus just laughed. "What?" He asked, wiping a tear from his eyes. "Your little lady has just demonstrated that you _won't_ be leaving without the jacket."

"Well maybe I'll just leave her here, then." Blaise snapped. Mundungus shrugged. Clearly, whether or not I hung around was a matter of supreme indifference to him.

"That was a terrible threat." I told Blaise. He glowered at me. Then glowered at Mundungus. Caught off guard, Mundungus automatically lowered the price to five galleons.

"Only, that won't work again." He warned us. I turned to Blaise expectantly.

"Five isn't very much." I told him.

He growled. "It's the _principle _of the thing, Estelle." He muttered. "It isn't worth five."

"T'ain't getting any lower." Mundungus interjected. "You've already pushed me to my limits. A man's got to eat."

Blaise sniffed. "From the looks of you, I'd say rather that a 'man's got to _drink_." He never was particularly helpful in social situations.

Annoyed, I turned to Mundungus, batting my eyelashes sweetly. "What if I told you that Blaise and I were getting married?" I gushed, leaning on the counter and smiling dreamily.

He remained unmoved. "Then I'd say you sure are young to have gotten knocked up." He answered impassively before relenting and shooting me a cheeky wink.

Nice. _Really_ nice. Sensing that screaming at Mundungus wouldn't get me any closer to the jacket, I turned to face Blaise. "You are_ so_ unhelpful!" I told him angrily.

He looked less than impressed. "I'm the one buying you the jacket." He snapped at me. And then, as I clapped gleefully, he pulled out a money pouch. "Alright- so did you say five galleons?" My eyes widened- he was paying full price? Mundungus also looked cheerful at the prospect. This was odd- like some sort of alternate universe. But then I saw it- just the slightest glint in Blaise's eyes to show me that he was planning something. "Oh." He said suddenly, frowning at Mundungus' stall.

Mundungus tore his gaze away from the shiny galleons in Blaise's hand. "Hmnnn? What? What?"

Blaise shook his head. "Estelle." He said, ignoring Mundungus. "Can you see a Ministry seal on this stall?" I smiled a little, and he continued. "You know- those little marks to show that this is a Ministry-certified place of commerce?"

I frowned. "I'm sure there's one here." I told him, peering exaggeratedly at the stall. "There must be, or else it wouldn't be _legal_."

"What? No!" Mundungus squawked. "No! S'all approved- all fine!"

I shook my head sadly. "I don't see the seal." I said, then pointed an accusatory finger at Mundungus. "This man is breaking the _law_!"

Several people turned to look, and Mundungus laughed nervously. "No, no!" He said, raising his hands in supplication. "No, s'all legal!"

"Come on, Estelle." Blaise said gravely, placing a hand on my arm and shaking his head. "We'd best move on." He shook his head. "I wonder what Father will say when he hears…"

Blaise's father was dead. I doubted he'd say much at all.

"Nah, nah." Mundungus called, panicking as Blaise and I began to walk away. "Come back- you, Miss- did you want the jacket?"

I turned around, and Blaise paused. I blinked up at Mundungus innocently. "I couldn't _buy_ something illegally!" I insisted.

Mundungus frowned at me, and I realised that he'd caught on. Still, there wasn't really much he could do about it. "Two galleons." He said gruffly.

I looked up at Blaise, who shrugged. "These people are ruining our economy." He said, his deep voice carrying across the street. "I don't know _why_ the streets aren't cleared!"

"One galleon." Mundungus said quickly.

I grinned happily as Blaise flicked a shiny galleon coin onto the dirty cloth of the stall covering. "There." He said, suddenly back to his usual, bored self. "Estelle, pick up your ugly thing." I complied eagerly, snatching it up from the counter, waggling my fingers at Mundungus in farewell and darting back to Blaise's side. "There." He said again after we'd walked a little while further. "Now you can't complain again today. And you also can't ask for anything else." I didn't say anything to contradict that, and Blaise nodded, satisfied that I agreed. "Good." He said. "So now, I want to go and see how much free booze we can scam off of Sneaky Pete, down in Nocturn Alley."

….

As it turns out, we didn't manage to scam much booze off of Sneaky Pete at all. Blaise walked away fuming, only managing to have gotten three bottles of firewhiskey ("And a terrible vintage, too") for his fourteen galleons. Still, old Pete was the only scumbag in Diagon Alley who'd sell to underage witches and wizards, so we had to stay on his good side.

As we meandered back to the place where we were meeting Draco, insulting each other with the ready wit and scathing words that only good friends could manage, I wondered why I hadn't told him about the manuscript yet. Blaise had, after all, demonstrated on numerous occasions that he was a good listener, and he was the only person besides Harry with whom I'd ever been able to speak plainly. That was part of why I valued his company so much – we were always so clear with each other, so straightforward. There was none of the political scamming that coloured almost all other relations with Slytherins – no, we understood each other perfectly.

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to tell him. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't force it any further than that. I felt suspended in a perpetual conflict between my compulsion to tell Blaise and my desire to keep my father all to myself. In the end, my more selfish instinct won out, but looking back I'm not sure whether they were both selfish, in a way.

I didn't have long to ponder, in any event, because while Blaise and I play-fought our way over to the meeting point (The Silver Chalice, naturally), one of the attendants was waiting outside, wringing his hands anxiously. Blaise had taken his arm off of my shoulder long before, but as we stepped into the territory traditionally in the hands of various pure-blooded matriarchs and snobby future in-laws. Now, though we were still hissing snide remarks at each other, we were standing a reasonable distance apart and seriously regretting that affectionate moment before we'd seen Mundungus' stall. Who might've seen and who would they tell? Would they exaggerate? Did they even need to? There were a hundred possible outcomes of our silly breach of etiquette, and when the best-case scenario involved a hasty betrothal, you knew you'd messed up.

Our sudden panic was interrupted by the aforementioned attendant, who approached us in a close to frenzied state, although still managing to maintain a demeanour of utter scorn. "Miss Dahlquist, I presume?" She (this was a girl one) said, successfully appearing panicked and disdainful simultaneously. I nodded curtly and she let out a long sigh. "Ms Malfoy was quite upset not to find you here when the time came to leave."

I blinked in surprise. "Sorry?" I asked, and Blaise, sensing that this was only more food for rumour, stepped even further away.

The girl pursed her lips. "Ms Malfoy and Master Draco flooed home almost twenty minutes ago." She said, as though this was information of the utmost importance. "_Without_ you."

I resisted the urge to snort. "Evidently." I drawled, and Blaise smiled.

The girl was momentarily dazzled by Blaise, but eventually remembered that she was furious and accordingly shot me a contemptuous scowl. "We have arranged a port key." She told me finally. "Ms Malfoy felt that to leave to floo networks open for an indefinite period of time after their return would be imprudent."

That was just _so_ like Narcissa. "She's locked me out of the manor?" I asked drily, momentarily forgetting that this was _my_ fault.

Of course, even if I was willing to forget whose fault it was, Blaise was not. "Well if you'd turned up on time, it wouldn't have been necessary, would it?" He pointed out.

My eyes narrowed. "A _few_ hours, Blaise." I pointed out. "Draco said a few hours." Blaise didn't respond, and I felt myself getting angrier. "Well, I didn't notice _you_ being in any particular rush to get back here!" I snapped angrily.

Blaise rolled his eyes, clearly bored of the whole conversation. "Shall we just _go_?" He asked, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "Please?" He turned then to the attendant. "I'll see her home. Where is the portkey?"

The next few minutes don't need re-telling. The girl alternated between simpering at Blaise and glaring at me, and eventually the pair of us were spinning through space and time, landing with a thump at the back of the manor. We sat there for a minute, dazed, and around us the many Malfoy peacocks pecked happily at the ground. For some reason, this reminded me that I was quite angry at Blaise, and so obligingly, I shot him a glare and scrambled to my feet.

We walked to the east wall of the house in complete silence. I'd already resolved to climb in through a window (that way Narcissa wouldn't see me using the door and I could pretend I'd been back for ages) and Blaise simply fell into step with me. We were there in no time.

"Okay." I said, glancing awkwardly to one side and jamming my hands in my pockets. Blaise said nothing at all. "Well- bye, I suppose." Already bored, I turned sharply, preparing to climb through the nearest window, which I suspected led to the library.

"Wait." I sighed as Blaise's hand clamped down on my arm. Annoyed, I turned back to face him, resisting the urge to light a cigarette. He looked down at me impassively, his dark eyes unreadable. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I raised an eyebrow, clueless, and he rolled his eyes. "To _thank_ me, Estelle. By Merlin, I don't know how Narcissa _stands_ you- you're so ill-bred. "

I ignored that little barb, instead focussing on making my most endearing face. I lowered my chin, gazing up at Blaise through my lashes, and, batting my eyelashes I clasped my hands behind my back sweetly and stepped a little closer, swaying my hips. "Well." I said, making my voice breathy and coy. "I had a really lovely time tonight…"

Before I could take my comedy routine any further, Blaise made a noise of complete exasperation, grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and kissed me.

It was a nice kiss, too. When he finally stepped back, I'd completely forgotten where I was up to in my imitation of a naïve schoolgirl on her first date. Blaise was watching me, eyes still unreadable. We stared at each other for a long minute, before he nonchalantly dusted off his robes – as though he could smooth the blood-traitor germs away- and said, "you know, I _loathe_ your inability to take anything seriously."

And then he was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Massive apologies to all! I foolishly promised a quick update, forgetting about that bane of every student's existence…. Exams.

Here it is, at long last. A little rough and pretty much a filler chapter, but there you have it!

As always, thanks to my reviewers for your endlessly kind words…. Here's looking at you, **those beautiful clouds**, **Dazzled-Midnight-Melody**, **Agent of Fire**, **Katie**, **andiescandieee** and **serenitylovegood**.

I am so sorry for the wait, and thanks for sticking with me (I hope!).

There's a little bit of Harry in part II of this one, for all you Harry/Estelle fans, and next chapter they'll be back at Hogwarts, so the wait is just about over.

**Dazzled-Midnight-Melody**, I squeezed a little Tonks in there, but she'll actually be cropping up more in the future. After all, she does patrol at Hogwarts during Harry's sixth year. At this stage (as you may note) Estelle doesn't realise the family connection.

**Andiescandieee**…. What a good question. Honestly, I don't know. But it should pick up pace now. A little less angst and a little more action, I promise!

Keep reviewing, guys! I appreciate every one xx


	25. Chapter 25

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Estelle's story will be continuing in the second instalment of Confessions of a Teenage Death Eater: The Intrigues

First chapter is already up, so enjoy!

Thank you to everybody who has been so patient with me! I know it is taking forever for updates, but my computes deleted all of my files which has made everything one hundred times more difficult.

I am incredibly grateful to you all!


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